


The Importance of Moss.

by orphan_account



Category: FVK, Fearless Vampire Killers
Genre: AU, Fae & Fairies, M/M, Male Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:32:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 24,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/834838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's too many troops to count, so we'll just focus on one. They'd always been in this one troop, and that meant that they would look after each other until the end. It was an unsaid rule that they'd never let their adopted member get in harms, and it was a vastly repeated rule that they're to collect moss for winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kier was truly an arse when he put his mind to it, which was far more often than not. He had these moments where he would simply bitch- it could be for any reason, maybe Drew hadn't gotten up at the right time or maybe Luke was tapping too much on that old bit of bark. His little face would scrunch up and his fists would fly everywhere as he tried to show just how annoyed he was at whatever the situation was, and the funniest thing was his wings. They seemed to be just as animated as his hands whenever he was angry, or well, any heightened emotion. His wings were pretty- these dark reds and purples mixing into a dark maroon fringing- but they jumped like hell whenever he was speaking, and it took all the serious tone from him. Drew found it the most funny, and often had to smother his face into a nearby leaf to stop his giggling. Of course, nobody told Kier about his wings, because what would be the fun in that?

He was ranting now, and his troop sat in front of him trying to smother their smiles behind cupped hands. This time he was going on about how winter was coming- and seriously, they were all pretty aware it was, since their flower-beds had died and that it was bloody freezing- and that they should all be contributing to collecting moss for their temporary tree. Kier was kind of bossy, but he only wanted what was best for his troop. He didn't want another death because of the winter, he couldn't bury another friend. And to prevent any terrible things happening this year, he'd gone on a long search for the perfect tree for the four of them to stay in. It had clearly been lived in before because there was already a rather lovely stash of moss low in the roots of the hollowed tree. Kier was very fond of it.

"I don't know what you're laughing about!" he snapped after a while, flicking up into the air with his little wings fluttering hard and his arms crossed over his chest.

There's a chorus of shrugs from his troop. "Nothing, babe. What about that moss?" Laurence steps in, pushing himself up from against the pebble he'd been sitting against. He stutters his own delicate wings, hovering up next to his friend, whom he pulls back down to the elbow-high grass and they all endure another animated explanation on the importance of moss.

So soon the group is split up- well, they go off in the usual pairs of Kier and Laurence, Luke and Drew- and they go their separate ways in hunt for fold and that damn moss.

"You know, you're cute when you're angry," Laurence commented absently as he picked at some moss to drop on the leaf they'd been dragging around to collect it all with. They were kind of geniuses with the leaf. There were plenty of them but not other fairy had thought of t as something to transport moss on. Kier and Laurence were yet to tell Drew and Luke.

The hot-headed fairy shot a glance over his shoulder as he tried fruitlessly to loosen some moss from the tangles of a trees’ roots. "D'you mean I'm not cute any other time?"

Laurence flittered over, shrugging his shoulders gently. "Oh, definitely what I meant," he agreed readily as he plucked the moss free with ease.

The troop leader glared and Laurence smirked to himself, before clapping his hands in front of the others face and saying; "chop, chop! There's moss to collect!"

That was a valid point. With one last glare, Kier stepped over to the transporter leaf and gave it a hefty tug. Moss was surprisingly heavy, y'know. Eventually, after watching the red head struggle, with a fond smile, Lawrence knotted his hand over the end of the leaf and tugged as well. Neither mentioned that their hands were touching.

A couple of metres away was Luke and Drew. They were going back and forth from this big mossy rock, to what was their old flower-beds. They felt some kind of connection with that place, and until they moved into their new tree, they'd stay there because there was actual home, most months of the year. While the flowers weren't in bloom, and they're in the process of moving into a tree, they sleep half buried under the soil with only their heads popping out of the top. Soil was very warm, but they all preferred the soft, waxy folds of their flower-beds.

"I don't want to move," admitted Drew quietly. They always had this conversation when this time came, everyone had it with him and it was always sad to break it down and say that there was no other option. It was horrible to see the jutter of his bottom lip and this sad expression wash over his face.

Luke patted his back gently to keep him calm. "Neither do I, but you know we have to," he told him, like he always had to do. They'd spoken about this before; the whole troop, and Drew had nearly convinced them that they would be fine before they all came to their senses. Luke was the one who had to tell him they had to go, and Laurence was the one who flew hurriedly after their adopted companion to calm him down.

There was a dramatic slouch in the blonde's shoulders, as the news was broken for him again. He doesn't speak because he knows he's annoying when he whines- so everyone says- so instead, he sits down on the moss they'd just collected, and sulks. The sulking doesn’t last long, because he simply can’t get himself to stay still long enough to get sympathy showers that he needs.

“Why can’t we try and stay here? I mean, we’ve been fine burying in the soil for tons of lights-and-darks!” the blonde exclaims, eyes widening, hands flailing in these huge and dramatic gestures.

Another sigh falls from the taller one’s lips, and he takes a seat next to his friend. An arm slides over his shoulder and his hand rubbed circles onto the top of Drew’s arm, in an attempt to get him to calm down- to get him to not freak out about this again, because it stressed everyone out, even if they didn’t admit it to his face. Nobody wanted to upset any members of their troop, so emotions were kept at bay most of the time. “We can’t, Drew. Remember what happened to Chester—and Nick?” Luke brings them up regretfully, but to prove a point that they simply cannot stay.

Drew slumps and doesn’t speak for a few seconds. He knows well what happened to Chester and Nick, he’d been there when they’d dug a hole for them and placed them there. Drew didn’t understand the need to do that because he didn’t understand death. How could someone’s life just end? How did it make any sense for them to just stop breathing? Did they do it intentionally or was it all due to the cold of the winter? Drew didn’t get it, and he never knew if he wanted to stay ignorant towards it or if he wanted to know more. He’d asked Kier a little after the death of Chester and had been shot down by the red head that had fat tears sliding down a pale white face. Laurence had explained a little but then forced Drew to collect more moss while he calmed the other troop leader down.

“I remember,” he says because he does. “It won’t happen to us, though, we’re stronger.”

Maybe they were now, and maybe they could survive the cold, but nobody was willing to risk it, especially with their adopted Drew to keep safe. They weren’t willing to let another die, and Drew wouldn’t die. They’d kept him alive since he was just small, and his wings were just unfurling wet and sticky from his back and goddamn it they’d keep him alive as long as they could.

That was what his parents would have wanted. That was why they didn’t keep him- they couldn’t look after him well enough, not in the cold. Kier’s father had said they’d found the tiny baby, moss wrapped by their home tree. Kier wasn’t born then, neither was Laurence but Luke had been there just as tiny as the new kid and curious about him. The women of the troop had acted as if he were their own and he soon became part of the troop. His wings started to unfurl when he was a little over one rotation, when little Kier joined the troop.

“We’ll speak to Kier about it.”


	2. The Importance of Moss 2.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was annual time to actually get in the river. it wasn’t too nice in the winter compared to the summer, but there was kind of a thing where the rule was that they had to go in the river.

Moving is a lot of effort, and is epically more difficult when you have a distraction as big as Drew. He was pretty excitable on a normal day, but on a day where Kier and Laurence introduce the transporting leaves to them- well, of course he'd be excited. The first thing he did was push the moss off and plop down on the leaf, demanding that someone pull him along. Nobody offered at first, but then there was the pouting and the wide eyes and soon Luke was pulling him around on the leaf. Laurence wondered why they'd never thought of that, then promptly sat on another leaf and demanded Kier pull him around. The troop leader did, though loudly complaining about how boring he was or how heavy the other troop leader was. Laurence didn't lose his grin, though, and cheered as loud as Drew as they raced from the tiny tree to their flower-beds.

They did get some work done, even though they had to cart the moss to the tree in the dark. It was one of the more boring things about this life- getting ready for the long winters ahead. In the summer there was nothing to really worry about, and the little run of water a slight flight away was fun to swim in whereas now it was freezing and only Luke would actually go in there without being shoved. He had really pale skin which amused the others a lot.

The tree that they’d move into in a few days had been lived in, but honestly, that meant less work on their behalf since nobody really cleans their moss out after leaving for the summer. It was good. They weren’t ready to move in yet, hadn’t got enough of the berries that grow everywhere, ripe and made of shiny little black beads that turned dark purple if held too tightly like Kier had found out once. It had been funny as Hell for Drew and Luke though more embarrassing for Laurence. Giving another a berry of some kind was some show of courtship- not crazy, like bonded forever or anything, but still, pretty close- and to have said show of courtship to explode in purple-black on the person whom you’re courting could be embarrassing. It had given the dark haired one an excuse to help the red-head to wash, though and maybe get a little sneak to see what was under those leaves.

What it meant, not moving into the tree yet, was that it was another night in their little dug-out beds in the old flower-bed patch. It wasn’t too bad, and soil was very warm and there was always a warm body to snuggle against if one got cold—which was more often than not.

Though, before digging a little under the dirt, it was annual time to actually get in the river. Like I said before, it wasn’t too nice in the winter compared to the summer, but there was kind of a thing where the rule was that they had to go in the river. And yes, maybe there was little to no point in doing it then burying under dirt, but it was the thought that counted, right? And it’s not like the little winged creatures knew that it wouldn’t do any good.

“Don’t bloody peek,” squeaked the red head from where he stood behind a stout little pebble. He sent a glance over to Laurence, this red flush covering his cheeks as the black haired one gave him a wink from where he was in the river. Annual river-going was fun for some. Kier placed his fur pelt-type-thing- the one that covered everything- carefully beside the rock, then proceeded to curling his large red-maroon wings around his pale body. He wasn’t shy, but he also didn’t like the other’s to see their troop-leader like this. The troop, however, were pretty open about everything.

Drew threw something lamely at their troop leader, a lazy grin popping onto his face. “We all know it’s tiny, Kier,” he states before promptly pressing his fingers over his nose and ducking down. He resurfaced a couple of second’s later, hair stuck around his face and eyes blinking to get the little droplets of water off his eyelashes.

Laurence and Luke snigger a little, and Kier sticks his tongue out at their adopted member before joining his troop in the river. It’s bloody freezing. His eyes widen and his fingers pinch his nose, he ducks under the line of the water, before popping back up.

“I’m going to bed,” Drew informed the others. His tall blue wings were soaked, the black lining around the edge shining a little more than usual. He looked to Luke and pointed a finger at him,”and so are you.”

It wasn’t like nobody knew that there was that thing between Kier and Laurence. It wasn’t specified, or even that obvious, but it was there. It wasn’t like their parents had had or anything, more just a really close, more profound bond than the other two in the troop. Maybe it was because it was their troop so that automatically made them closer, or maybe they were closer just because. All it meant to Luke and Drew was that they knew when it was their time to get out of the way, and go to sleep wherever sleep is.

The blonde shakes his wings out when he gets to the edge of the river, his feet sink into the soft soil where water has licked up and ruined whatever was in its path. He goes behind his own little pebble. It’s white with these little blue speckles on, he has no idea why there are blue speckles but there is and he found it first, so that meant the rock was his. A leaf dangles by his face, the tip touching on his nose in this irritating nudge. His fingers clench around it and he tugs, deciding that it would do to dry off with. The green is soft against his skin; it tears slightly against the thick lines that run up the middle. It gets caught slightly around his thighs, catching on the veins that run green up his legs. They match the ones of the leaf he’s drying off with, they look drawn on until you touch them, they lie on top of the skin and go down a little past the knee, little lines going off to dead-ends. They all had them, matching the colour of their wings.

Once he’s done with the leaf he shuffles into the little connections of leaves that they’d built up to sleep in, during the day they used the soft furs of the animals that stopped breathing and weren’t placed into little dug-out holes. The leaves that twisted around their hips and a little down their thighs weren’t much good, they often broke a lot but were easily replaceable. The vine-type-lines that run along his thighs run thinner over the jutting-lines of his hips and disappear near his ribcage. They reappear on his fingers, thick blue lines.

“Sleep well!” Laurence shouts from the water, a splash of water meeting the stretched panel of Drew’s wings. There’s a shout from Kier saying the same, and another splash of water that hits along the lines of dark purple, almost black wings of Luke. They get their replies back and then they’re left in the pale silver of the moon, it reflected softly off the surface of the water and shone along the lines of faces and showed the strips of shine of wings.

The soil is dry and warm, and Drew is too tired to dig under to make his bed. Instead he lines his back against a spare clump of moss and demands that Luke do it for him, since he was the eldest, and really, why shouldn’t he? Luke, being the nice friend that he was, made an attempt at a hole for Drew, then just told him to do it himself.

The elder of the two burrowed under his soil-bed and ignored the other’s whines of protest by curling his wings up near his ears so the sounds were muted. Drew pouted at the other though he knew he couldn’t actually see him. He decides to finish the little bed off for himself, and it only takes a couple of minutes before you can only see a tiny face and a clump of blonde hair next to long dark hair.

Only a few hundred metres away a lost fairy shivered sadly under a clump of poorly-collected moss, and tried not to let sticky tears fall down his cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you anyone who's read this, or is ever going to. Don't be scared to comment!! it'd be amazing to hear what you all think :)
> 
> ((((has anyone noticed i've slipped supernatural quotes and stuff into this story already)))


	3. The Importance of Moss 3.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As far as he knows, moss does not shake.

What would one do if you lived with three others whom were irritating when wanting to be? It’s probably simpler for anyone else, Kier thinks, not everybody is part of a troop and therefore has to look after slightly immature ones. It’s not that he doesn’t love his troop because he truly does but honestly they can be annoying. Especially with the excitement of the new tree, and that they’re actually going to be staying in said tree and not under little scoops of dirt anymore. And yes it was rather exciting, but did that excitement need be shown by squealing and running around and chucking little clumps of dirt at each other? It was dirtying up their moss, and wings were surely going to get in a tangle if it were to continue.

Wings were stupidly delicate, I’ll have you know. There was one awful time where Laurence had torn his. Now Laurence had these tall white wings, they had hundreds of shades of grey and the little vines down and along the sides were stretched black and his wings were just gorgeous. Anyway, back to the story, there had been a fight. It had been a while ago, while their parents were still alive, and it had been pretty nasty. A large stick, with one of those vicious spikes lining the sides had simply dug in and dragged it out and pulled at the wing until the stick was free and the white was stained with a darkening red. It was an awful memory for dear Kier whom had been simply terrified for his friend, and had feared for his life because he always dramatised stuff more than he should. Laurence still had his paler and thinner part on his wing where it had happened, but he had this odd pride of it and Kier didn’t get that.

So, new tree. Full functioning with all their moss and any other things one might need set in it. There were leaves for their sleep-wear and whenever a non-breathing animal were to be found off the fur would come then to the river, then to the tree for an extra layer of warmth to snuggle in. It was all sorted and there was no room for disaster, which meant there probably would be some. Though Kier was hopeful there would be none, and it would be a smooth time of the cold.

He could only hope.

Of course there is still moss to collect, and their days are still stupidly monotonous with that even if there is more fun because transporter leaves. However, we will meet a new character to our story on one cold day of monotony.

Drew had gone off by himself and that in itself was a rule broken. Drew wasn’t allowed to go anywhere by himself and nobody was allowed to let him go off on his own, but nobody had been looking- Luke his partner had been far more interested in watching one of the blue winged things with orange triangles on their faces fly off. And Laurence and Kier always went together, anyway. So Drew, seeking freedom for those few seconds had flew off much like a rebellious young-one would do.

What he didn’t know was that outside of their own little area was incredibly the same as their area, just had less family and was a lot more boring. This was because there was no Kier with his fists and shaking wings, there was no Laurence calming him down and calling him ‘babe’- Drew did not know what this meant- and there was no Luke to poke fun at. There was the odd creature scuttling by with their own little troops but other than that there was nothing fun at all.

That was until he saw the quivering pile of moss. And having to go through Kier’s lectures on the importance of moss, he was very aware that moss did not quiver and since there was little wind (he knew this because he was having to move his wings a fair amount) it must mean that there is an adventure here and Drew is not one to miss an adventure.

So, calming down his wings so that he slowly hovered down to the ground, and then he stopped all together and his bare feet hit the dirt and the grass raises high above his head. He sees this as a good cover because what if the quivering moss is something to be scared of- what if it tries to eat him? He was brave, though, and surely moss didn’t eat. He hoped it didn’t because he certainly did not want to be eaten in his sleep.

Clearing his head and clenching his fists, he stepped carefully over to the quivering moss and when he got to it he put his pale-vined hands over the green and tugs. His eyes widen in shock at the sight that’s in front of him.

It’s another like him, but it’s not at the same time. It- he- has long blonde-brown hair that’s falling into these little square things that sit over the bridge of his nose, and he has these things on that are most definitely not fur and not leaves. Things exactly like the squares on his nose are circles on his head, and brown holds them on his head. Then there’s his wings and pity fills Drew’s whole being, the top half of his left wing is missing, and he must have been in some absolutely awful battle.

Drew steps back and frowns. “What are you?” he asks, and it’s not meant to sound rude but it probably did anyway because he doesn’t know if he should be scared about this male or if he should be worried because why is he not in his troop?

The other one doesn’t say anything, and he has these huge green eyes that are wide and are looking wet and Drew feels bad because he didn’t mean to upset someone else. He apologises quickly and takes a seat next to the strange being. He lets his wings slouch slightly so they don’t tangle with the others’ full wing. It’s bright green, which mixes into this dark green fringing and they’re very beautiful wings. Drew says so, because he feels like he should know that his wing and a half are very pretty.

He doesn’t get a reply, just a sniffle and a hand crunching up and wiping underneath his nose. Drew leant against him to get his attention.

“Have you got a troop?” he asked him quietly, looking up at him and trying to decide if his own troop would be annoyed if he were to bring this sweetie back to their tree. He didn’t see why they would mind him being there since their parents just adopted Drew when they found him, so they should be able to do that with someone whom looked their age, too, surely? But they’re probably all pissed off that he flew away. Maybe it wouldn’t be a good idea.

“N-no,” the boy murmured, and he sniffles again, his pale hands with the green vines all down are rubbing wet cheeks raw and his voice so goddamn beautiful, and Drew kind of wants to keep him forever and never ever let him go.

So he makes a decision there and then, and it’s not just based on his half-a-wing and how sad he seems, it’s based on the fact that why the hell not? And it doesn’t matter that he’s weird looking and wearing these things that don’t make sense- what are those square things on his face?- because nobody can survive out here when it gets so cold and he doesn’t want to see this poor thing having a hole dug for him.

Drew takes the sticky hand- which gets him this worried look- and says in a determined voice, “you can come and stay with my troop.” Then he stands up, and he’s about to fly off, then remembers that this one simply cannot fly because he only has one and a half wings. So instead he hoists him up and starts to walk, keeping their hands together so the other does not have time to think about leaving or staying in his quivering pile of moss.

Then he starts to ramble, just to fill the silence as they walk back to his tree. “We have this awesome new tree, and it’s got moss and fur and it’s going to be so warm because we all cuddle anyway. And I think that Kier and Laurence are very close, do you think that means anything?” he looks at the other who stays quiet, shrugs, and continues on speaking nonsense the other will not understand nor care about. “Luke and I think it does but they always deny it. Kier gets annoyed a lot but Laurence always calms him down and calls him a ‘babe’ and do you know what that is, I don’t.”

The one with one and a half wings does not know what a babe is, either.


	4. The Importance of Moss 4.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does he only have half a wing, and why is he out in the cold alone with barely enough moss to keep himself warm?

The hot breath against his neck made him know he was loved.  
The troop were a lot more concerned than they were angry. They were worried that Drew could have gotten hurt- there were a lot of harsh things outside the lines of their territory and even the idea of their adopted member getting hurt made them wince. There were also the other troops that were around, they could easily be vicious- considering the battle that had happened only some time ago- and maybe they’d take Drew captive. Or worse, make him fight against them. It was always worse if you lay out all the what-if’s for everyone to see, because then they were examined and a lot more seemed possible than actually were. It also didn’t help that Drew had been missing for ages.

So they’d searched, gone right up to the lines of their territory and a little further to search for their blue-winged companion but to no avail. He couldn’t be found. Laurence was the one who volunteered to sit outside by their tree to wait for Drew, and he did, sitting with his legs crossed and a spike-twig firm between his palms as he waited. He had never been fond of the dark, and he found himself wincing at every little sound and shadow. Kier, after not being able to sleep, told Luke to stay in the tree and then went and sat outside with the other troop-leader. Kier did this not only because he was aware of Laurence’s acute fear of the dark, but because he felt like he should- he was a troop leader, after all.  
When a shadow of two appeared Laurence frowned and nudged the red-head awake since he’d fallen asleep against his shoulder. The dark haired one frowned, because two didn’t make sense. Was it another troop coming to tell them that they had Drew and would only give him back for their tree?

“Kier, I’m scared,” Laurence murmured as they stood. He kept an eye on the advancing figures as his back pressed up against the rough bark of their tree. He felt Kier’s hand slide into his spare one and he gave it a tiny squeeze though he didn’t take his eyes off the shadow of two. “What if we never find Drew—what if they’re holding him captive?”

The red-head, too, frowned and pressed a little closer to the other leader. It was clear that they had reason to be scared, and it was certainly a time for them to be holding hands and pushing a spike-stick out in front of them for protection. It’s what any sensible troop-leader would do, surely? They were there to protect their tree, their moss, Luke, and wait for their Drew and pray that he does come back.

“Laur—Kier?” say an all-too familiar voice, he sounds bleary how he’s walking looks like he should have been asleep at least half a moon ago. The other two don’t trust it because last time they checked Drew did not have three and a half wings and did not have a tall thing next to him. “It’s me- put the stick down!”

Laurence drops the stick mainly from confusion. He can see Drew now in the silver of the light, and it’s certainly Drew but there’s also someone with him. Someone who doesn’t make sense at all. He’s wearing this stuff that doesn’t look anything like their leaves or their furs, he’s got these squares on his face and on his head and half of his damn wing is missing. Did Drew pick this someone up along the way and pity him—what if he’s a spy from another troop? What if they’re trying for information to start up another battle when they’re weakest? He shares his worries with Kier in just a glance.

“Can we talk about it when it’s lighter, please,” Drew requests, and goes to nudge between his two leaders so he can go inside with his wounded prise and sleep in their soft furs. They can speak later, hopefully that will give them time to calm down about him being gone for so much of the day. He also doesn’t want to be questioned about Half-Wing because he feels like it’ll upset him, and he’s probably had enough of being spoken at since he never replies to Drew’s rambling.

The red-headed leader glances them over and decides that they both look tired, and if the half-winged boy is a spy they can deal with him at some other time- when it’s lighter. So he gently nudges Laurence out the way with a quiet, “goodnight” to the stranger and Drew. He watched them walk into the tree, their blonde friend helping the half-wing guy in through the little gap they’ve made from entering the tree with all the moss and all their  
other supplies for the cold nights.

Laurence turns him from where their hands are still connected, and raises his eyebrows as if asking for an explanation. “Can we just sleep, please, babe?” he murmured, giving these begging large-eyes up at his dark eyed partner and using their pet name for each other just because he knows it will calm Laur down. He’s too goddamn tired to want to speak about it, and speak about this half-wing, weird-dressed bloke that Drew’s brought home.

The other sighs, because those eyes and that name will always get him to do whatever Kier wants him to do, and the red-head is fully aware of this which makes him even more of an arsehole for using them as his weapon. “Only if we cuddle?” he murmured and Kier grins and says that he couldn’t sleep if they weren’t- which is a nice note to go to bed on and makes Laurence feel loved, even if he’s never had a reason not to.

And Laurence is fine with Kier pressing against his stomach, he’s happy with the soft touch of bright red hair just under his chin and enjoys the soft and hot breaths against his chin. It’s times like this, with Kier sleeping right on him that he truly feels loved and truly feels glad that he has his troop and that he has Kier. His red-headed, pissy, bitchy and totally perfect babe.

It’s a bit more of a squeeze with the new guy, but they all fit in, even if it means pressing against each other a little bit more so they won’t ruin the black-balled-berries that they’ve collected with the moss. It’s not bad though, because they always end up pressing close with their arms over eachothers’ stomachs and their noses nuzzling a little bit the nexts hair. Of course it happened more with Kier and Laurence, even if nobody commented on it the next morning.

And maybe it makes the new guy a little embarrassed to have a stranger pressed up against him, but he’s afraid to comment because he fears being told to get out. He knows very well that he cannot survive the cold if he’s not in a troop, because he was never too good at collecting moss and he doesn’t understand why you can’t eat some berries.

He feels a little more safe here though, mainly because the blue-winged one has spoken so fondly of the three others that are here in this tree. Or maybe it’s because he’s warm, and his wings are curled around himself as well as this slightly pale brown- he doesn’t understand why they’re all covered in dirt but it might be rude to ask- arm that’s around his stomach, too. But then he also gets the feeling that the red-head guy and the black haired guy aren’t too fond of him and he wonders if it’s because of his wing and half-wing. He doesn’t sleep that night because he’s thinking far too much about this new place and that blue winged saviour.

A clump of moss tumbles outside along the roadside and it’s the only proof that shows that once there was a shaking winged-creature there. And his troop don’t even think about the tall one that they’ve left behind.


	5. The Importance of Moss 5.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The extent of the situation is known as soon as the new guy mumbles what troop he's from and Kier swears.

The next morning was something that Drew was not looking forward to, neither was Kier or Laurence or the new guy. Luke was mutual because he’d been asleep during the whole ordeal with the new guy that Drew brought back home. Really, more than anything, none of them wanted to wake up to face the day or worse, face Kier when he’s annoyed at Drew. But Luke woke up, and when one wakes up the whole little line of persons cuddled together are all shifted and everyone is awake. There are faint sights of glares at the eldest as he sits up and glances around.

“Um, have one of you, maybe, multiplied?” the eldest asks, rubbing scrunched up hands to get the sleep out of his eyes so that he could focus on the new member of their troop. Was he even a new member or was he just someone that one of the others- Drew- had picked up? He looked weird, had these things on his head and wasn’t wearing what one normally wears. And his wing was explicitly shorter than everyone else’s, and Luke wondered why, though thought it rude to ask.

Kier looks up blearily. He’d been pressed up against Laurence, and had to shift his leg from where it had hooked slightly over Laurence’s. His hair is a mess, the red was puffed up slightly at the front and resembled the petals of roses that he sleeps in during the summer. “Uhn—yeah, we got tah talk about that,” he mumbled, pushing himself up with a hand on Laurence’s stomach to assist, which wakes the other troop leader up.

The black haired one grunts- he was never good in the mornings- and throws his arm over his eyes as they blinked open. It was exactly bright in the tree, but then it wasn’t as dark and nice as the comfort of his sleeping was. He pushes himself to sit up, and pushed his foot up against Drew’s thigh to wake the short blonde. Laurence’s wings flutter slightly as he sits up, the ends are pressed against the ground and the edges hit against Kier’s wings as he moves back against the rough inside of the tree. His legs crunched up by his chest and his wings curl just slightly around himself so that nobody else’s get tangled into his. “Wake ‘im up, Drew,” Laurence ordered in this tired voice.

Drew glared over at the dark haired one, and was tempted to curl a wing over his face so that Laurence would bugger off, but then he knew that Kier would be sent onto him and it would be worse than the kick in the thigh. The blonde’s hand crunched up slightly, and he pushed it gently up against the stranger’s arm softly to wake him up. He didn’t want to scare the other because he didn’t know how he would be when he woke up.

“Wake up, new guy!” Kier shouted, chucking something over to the Half-wing to wake him up. He of course wouldn’t be as gentle as damn Drew.

And the new guy wakes from his pathetic excuse for sleep. The things on his head have fallen forward slightly, pushing his honey-brown hair against his forehead in this matted sort of way under the heavy-looking circles. His green eyes are wide and it doesn’t look like he’s slept at all. Whatever he’s wearing is crumpled and pushed up slightly, and his wings are slightly messed up from where they’re stuck around near his hair. He doesn’t speak and he too sits up, curling his bright green wings around himself, one goes all around his head and a little above, though the other only comes up to his elbow from where they’re crunched around his  
knees.

“We have questions,” Kier says and they’re all sitting up now apart from Drew, whom has his head laying on Laurence’s legs and his wings stretched out and resting over crunched knees. “Lots.”  
The green-winged one looks up with these wide eyes behind his knees, and he doesn’t say anything else but tightens his hands over his knees. He doesn’t look like he was going to say anything and there was a scrunch in Kier’s eyebrows when he didn’t get a straight away reply. Drew glanced over to the new guys, and he frowned at him too, though the green eyes don’t meet his.

“Drew, he’ll speak to you,” Luke says and his tone is slightly questioning because he hopes (for all their sakes) that this guy will actually answer all their questions. And it’s not just because of his own curiosity about the green-winged one but they also need to know if he’s a spy from the other troops, one of those troops that use any damn excuse to start a battle just because they thought it to be fun, when certainly, it was not for all the injuries they caused.

Drew sits up, and feels like he’s the one with the authority there- which he knows if not true because Kier and Laurence are obviously the ones of authority- and shuffles over to the one he picked up. He tucked his wings in slightly as he sat next to him, and he glanced and they met eyes. The green eyes are wide and shining and Drew feels slightly sympathetic. Maybe they shouldn’t make him answer any of Kier’s questions. Drew holds his hand out and the stranger takes it, pale hand against slightly dirty one.

“Firstly, what’s your name?” Laurence asked gently, looking at the stranger through his black fringe, his eyebrows raised slightly and he was a lot more gentle than Kier would have been. He wanted an answer and the other frowned slightly, he didn’t want to not reply but then again all these people were rather scary looking. Especially the one with flaming hair and scowling face.

Instead of speaking he picks up a stick and scratches lines onto the floor that spell out a name that they cannot read, and in his head it’s a suitable answer because his troop all learnt the letters and scratching of the words that they speak. It was one of the needs-musts that they had when growing up. He just gets some confused looks and a deeper scowl from the red head. Drew gives his hand a squeeze.

“What does that mean?” asks said blonde, peering over to looking at the curves and lines that have been drawn onto the floor and the other three all second Drew’s question, because why is this guy drawing on the ground and not answering their damn questions?

The new one frowns because he doesn’t want to talk, he doesn’t want to have to communicate any more than he has to, but obviously they cannot understand and it annoys him. His eyebrows scrunch and he leans towards the one who had saved him, his lips near his ear so he’s speaking to him and not the others. The other ones are scary and keep scowling.

“Cyrus,” he says his nickname. He doesn’t want them to know his actual name yet because he’d been taught not to tell strangers his name, to protect the goddamn troop or something. Maybe he shout spill all the secrets about the damn troop, the ones who obviously don’t care enough about him and just leave him. He frowns and blocks his mind, too many thoughts.

Drew parrots the odd name, and they get a couple of nods, because at least they’re getting somewhere- even if it’s parroted through one of their own troop members. It would do, and it would have to be good enough because it was clear that that was all they were going to get.

“And what troop are you from?” asked the one with flame-hair, his eyebrows raising. This is one of the more important questions for anyone because nobody really tells their troops incase there’s this ongoing battle between the two but that’s the reason they needed to know. Could they trust this guy with only half a wing? Probably not.

‘Cyrus’ leant to Drew again, and the blonde ignored the brush of lips near his earlobe and the vines along his neck can feel the hot breaths and it’s weird and he feels like he should be Kier or Laurence. “Corrigan.”

It’s parroted with these big eyes, and it’s suddenly real. And the extent of his troop is known.

Kier swears.


	6. The Importance of Moss 6.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re not sure with your statement. You’re contradicting yourself. You’re being more careful now you know that I am indeed from that troop. If you sincerely believed that I was not a part of the troop you would be as forward and angry as you were before, but alas, you’ve moved back and you’re speaking more carefully.

Now, there’s probably some confusion as to why it’s so bad that ‘Cyrus’ is from the troop Corrigan. This will be because not everyone understands the troops of fairies and which ones are dangerous and not to be messed with, and which ones were the nice ones which could get alone with everyone. Now, the troop Corrigan is one of the most well known of the fae troops out there and this is not because they are the most loving and nice troops around it is because they’re the opposite of that. Some troops believe that they’re evil spirits or demons condemned to live on the Earth for wrong doings, but other troops know that they’re just scary and something to be feared. They’re the ones that bring on the battles and they’re the ones who win at the end with no exception.

So how did this, shy, little half-winged creature once belong to such a fearsome group as the Corrigan’s? It didn’t make any sense, nothing about him made any sense to the other troop, but for such a timid thing to be from such an awfully frightening troop as the Corrigan’s, well, that was practically insane and he must be lying there was simply no other explanation than it must be a damn lie.

“You’re lying,” states Kier, though he’s a little more reserved in his statement now. It’s not obvious that he’s scared, but he’s not being as forward as he had been before and it makes Cyrus raise his eyebrows slightly because he noticed it. Noticed how he’s not as forward now that he knows the troop he’s from. The one with honey hair shakes his head and speaks to the troop by himself instead of having Drew parrot it for him.

“You’re not sure with your statement. You’re contradicting yourself. You’re being more careful now you know that I am indeed from that troop. If you sincerely believed that I was not a part of the troop you would be as forward and angry as you were before, but alas, you’ve moved back and you’re speaking more carefully,” he states out loud and his voice is what Drew remembers and he classes it as awesome, and he tries not to feel impressed about the Corrigan member that he’s brought back, but damn, he just stood up to Kier. “So, tell me, do you truly believe that I was not, previously, a member of the troop in which I stated to be mine?”

Everyone is shocked. Why was he not speaking through Drew anymore, and holy shit, he is actually from that troop—and he basically just shot one of their troop leaders down. Someone should do something to save the troop leaders’ honour but nobody moves and everyone is frozen. Kier looks up, eyebrows scrunched together, and eyes glinting a pale red and he looks dangerous but he’s no threat compared to this Corrigan. “Proof. I want proof. Corrigan’s have marks on their arms, line with a shorter line going flat across. It’s red and black,” Kier speaks calmly, staring over to the one with green wings.

Cyrus moved his wings slightly as he moved forwards, pushing the sleeve of his clothes up to his elbow, and following along the pale green lines is a thick red and black line, with a flat line of solid black sliding through the middle in a cross. “Enough proof?” he murmured, and he’s speaking gentler now and there’s a pale pink flushing over his cheeks as he pulled the sleeve back down over his forearm to cover up the markings of his old troop.

“Yes,” murmured Kier, in silent shock. He shuffled back, pressing up against the white-winged troop leader and pressed his head of firey red against the others’ shoulder.

The tree goes silent because people are trying to decide how they should be reacting and if they should be asking more questions. Drew’s sat up next to Cyrus again, their shoulders are touching and it’s probably annoying the male from the Corrigan troop but if it was he wasn’t saying anything, just keeping his wings tucked back so they don’t tangle in the blue ones of the blonde.

Luke speaks, and maybe he should have thought his question through, because it sounds fairly rude when he does ask it. “Why aren’t you with them now, then?” and it wasn’t purposely mean, but it was and the half-wings face goes unhappy, this frown between his eyebrows and his lips dipping down slightly. His face flashes with something and for a second the green of his eyes switches to this solid black, the colour of oil and then it changes back, pale green, the colour of leaves. His hands push against the ground and he’s pushing out of the entrance with an indignant attitude and no care.

With the Corrigan gone the troop looks around at each other with these big eyes, and then all eyes are on Drew, who kind of shrinks back into himself and scrunches his arms around his knees and tucks his wings around himself in this protective curtain against his own troop.

“Drew! You let a Corrigan into our home!” squeaks Laurence, eyes widened and it would be comical if it were any other time. But it wasn’t. The dark haired one skittered over to the blue-winged one and sat in front of him, grabbing onto his arms and pulling them from around his legs, and blue wings flair out in shock at being touched. Drew looked up to Laurence.

“Are you mad?” he whispered. He sounded like a child that was scared of his own parents. His eyes were wide and they looked like tears were going to bead and fall down if he got a few seconds without some reassurance that all was well.

Laurence, always the mother figure, shushed the blonde and cupped his cheek with this gentle hand. “No, no, honey, its fine- nobody’s mad at you,” he mumbled, looking into those eyes to make sure that those threatening tears won’t fall. Laurence brushed back some stray blonde hairs and glanced around at the troop so that they would say that they weren’t mad. They shouldn’t be- at least, not to Drew’s face, they could be as soon as he wasn’t around.

The dark haired troop leader shuffled around to sit by Drew’s side, and circled his own wings around himself so not to get them tangled with the blue pair that spread out, and one pulled around Laurence’s side and the other stayed around himself in this protective manner. Drew rested his head up against Laurence’s shoulder and they sat like that for a while, and Kier slid out of the tree, flaring his wings out as soon as he was outside.

He held his fur tighter around himself and saw the half-wing trying to fly away but it was sad, because he simply couldn’t and that was kind of sad. How could one call themselves fae if they could not fly? He walked over, letting his wings drop just slightly, the tips trailing along the ground as he walked up to Cyrus who had huffed onto the floor with his arms crossed tightly over his chest and a frown between his eyebrows.

Kier sat next to him and stared off into the distance like the Corrigan was, and he wondered if he wanted to fly out to that point in the distance and he couldn’t blame him. He was stuck with a weird troop, ones that didn’t even like him. Why wouldn’t he want to escape from this place that he had been brought to? But how could he? Would he walk all the way to that dot in the distance or keep trying to fly all the damn time until he got more than a hover off the ground?

“What do you want?” the honey-haired boy asks quietly, turning his head to look at the troop leader. He didn’t understand why he was sitting with him, and he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted him there either. He was rude and unpleasant, and his eyes were slightly unsettling.

The troop leader shrugs. He doesn’t know why he came out here. It could have been because he didn’t like seeing Laurence all cuddled up with Drew or it could have been because he wanted to know more about this guy.

“I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am listening to My Chemical Romance and it's sad because they broke up just when I started loving them. Sigh. I am going to try and write a Frerard one-shot based on The Purge because that pairing is undeniably gorgeous, and also, The Purge has an awesome concept which I would like to work on.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, and I hope I explained what a corrigan is well enough!! :) Thank you for reading, everyone.


	7. The Importance of Moss 7.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drew teaches Cyrus how to fly. Well, fall.

Kier stayed outside with Cyrus for a bit. They didn’t speak, just stared off into the distance at something, Maybe the sky, or that family of beetles that were scurrying to-and-fro to get everything that they needed for Winter. Some weren’t as prepared as they were, it seems. Kier didn’t know if he was comfortable or not around the Corrigan, simply because he had some kind of threat on his troop and he knew where they lived during the winter and that he also had Drew smitten. The whole situation was kind of odd, to say the least. Not only had they got a Corrigan in their tree said Corrigan only had half a wing and knew weird scratching which he drew on the ground.

It was later that Laurence, Luke and Drew emerges from the tree with their fur pelts tied from shoulder and looped around hips. The circle of orange is high in the sky at this point, it’s hot, and Kier is bored with sitting and having nothing to do. He hopped up from where he sat, flaring out his wings as he stretched his arms above his head and moved onto his tippy toes, a yawn stretching over his mouth, not because he was tired, but because he was so awake that all the sleepiness was coming out of him.

“Can we do somethin’ today?” he asks anyone who will listen. He shouldn’t have to ask, he is troop leader, after all. They have to do anything that he wants them to do. But was is there in ways of entertainment other than collecting lumps of moss or running around while another is on a transporter leaf? There was little and Kier was desperately trying to come up with something that wouldn’t bore everybody to death.

Drew shrugs, they never do anything fun, so what could they possibly do? He stretches his wings out, stretches out his hand and rubs it over his face. Lets his wings drop so that the ends would drag along the ground, and walked over to where Cyrus sat, and sat next to him, pressing his head against his shoulder because he certainly looked like he needed someone to sit next to him and just… be. 

“Yes, but what?” Laurence says, walking up to Kier and raising his eyebrows because what could they do? 

Luke sighs, and decides he’ll sleep for another age, because he doesn’t really care for this new character and he doesn’t want to be around when Laurence and Kier and joined by the mouth. If you think it didn’t happen, then you will be sorely wrong. It happens a lot, just behind things and when they thought nobody was there. Luke wished he didn’t have to see it. He pushes back through the moss door and burrows inside, sleep always sounds good.

“You two do what you want,” Drew speaks up, laying back slightly and tucking his hands under his head and looking at the troop leaders. “I’m gonna teach Cy how to fly again,” he declares and the Corrigan turns to face Drew with his eyebrows scrunched together, as though he was confused as to why someone would want to help him with flying. A tiny, barely there smile shows up   
on his face, though and Drew beams back. 

Kier frowns, he feels like a protective father, or something along those lines. He doesn’t want to say yes. For two reasons, he doesn’t want Drew to be alone with the Corrigan, because said Corrigan might have been acting like he wasn’t violent but he knew their kind. They’d ripped up Laurence’s wing without a second damn thought. He was also worried that Drew would run off again and he didn’t think that he could deal with that--“Fine.”

“And don’t bother Luke, okay?” Drew instructs as if he’s suddenly the troop leader, like he has the right to be giving instructions to the actual troop leaders. But they nod because they know that Luke has seen them probably more than once, and he probably deserves not to be seeing that all the time. 

With this huge grin, Drew hops up onto his feet and grabs onto Cyrus’ hands to pull him up, too. The pair of green wings flutter slightly out as he stands, then he ducks his head as if he were embarrassed, which Laurence didn’t understand but he didn’t say anything. He just watched Drew scurry off excitedly with the Corrigan trailing along behind him with his hands all scrunched up by his black-covered leg. 

“He’s weird,” Laurence stated, turning to look at Kier who nodded, setting his mouth slightly. 

“You think he’ll hurt Drew?” asked Kier, his face twisting into something of worry. 

Laurence shook his head. “No. Now stop worrying, we’re going somewhere, okay, and you’re not going to worry about the troop. Just us two and what we’re doing.” And with that a white-vined hand is sliding into one with vivid red and then the two hover then fly, wherever they want to go.

-

Drew and Cyrus, after a bit of walking (Drew wouldn’t fly because he didn’t want to leave Cyrus all alone) end up at a little circle of things. There’s a rock which is blends of grey that have this pretty white near the bottom which practically swirls around it in this pattern. There’s a couple of branches hanging from a bush nearby, but they’re not in the way and couldn’t really cause any real damage. Maybe the branch- the brown part- would hurt if they were to hit into it, but nothing they couldn’t handle, surely?

“How much can you fly?” asked Drew. He leant up against the aforementioned rock and tilted his head slightly at the Corrigan as he waited for his answer. Of course he wanted to know more than how much he could actually fly, but it would simply be rude to ask why he only had a half of a wing. Maybe it was some messed up thing that the Corrigan did to all their bad members. Cut off their wings as punishment—maybe Cyrus had gotten away before they were both cut off properly. He shuddered at the thought. Having no wings would be awful, imagine no flying again ever. At least Cyrus could somewhat fly/hover. 

Cyrus is standing in front of him, a hand scratching over his arm. He looks a little awkward but that’s okay because Drew knows he’ll get an answer because he knows that Cyrus wants to fly again. “Um, I don’t know. I, um. I haven’t tried since—since, um, y’know.” No, he didn’t know but goddamnit did he want to.

“Well, this will be interesting,” grinned Drew. 

When he was younger he’d taken a while to learn how to fly, and the women of the troop had gotten frustrated with him after trying and trying to teach him how to fly. He’d gotten it eventually and he figured that now he would know how awfully irritating it is to try and teach someone to fly. But then, Cyrus knew how to, he was just kind of a little disabled. Baby Drew had never flew before.

Drew climbed up onto the rock, and stuck his hand out to help Cyrus up, while his wings flared out to the sides so that he didn’t fall to the ground in an ungraceful lump. “C’mon, then. This is the fun part. You get to fall a lot,” said the blonde with a smile as   
he helped the taller one up onto the rock. 

Cyrus was nervous. He hadn’t flown for a damn age- he could barely remember how he’d done it. He knew he was going to fall on his face every single time that he even try to fly. His wing was not even worthy of that name, it didn’t work! It was useless because one needed a set of whole wings to actually get anywhere other than the damn ground. But he could try, couldn’t he? He could let Drew teach him what he already knew, and when he could do it again, he could fly away and find his troop. A tiny smile appeared on his face, dimples dipping into his pale cheeks.

“You jump and try to fly, okay?” instructed the blue-winged male, his eyes connecting with the one with green, and he was oddly serious. He actually wanted this Corrigan to be able to fly. It was a damn fae right to be able to fly.

Cyrus nodded, his face kind of serious as he walked up close to the edge of the stone. It wasn’t a long way down, not far at all, actually, but he knew he’d be meeting it in a couple of seconds. All up close and personal. So he scrunched up his face and he jumped, trying to get his wings to flare, to pulse to do fucking something, but in the time wasted of trying to do something he seems to have become a lump on the floor.

A thud tells him that Drew is also a lump on the floor and it makes him smile a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry for not updating soon enough. I was busy like all of last week, so I apologise. Also I'm sorry that this chapter kind of sucks. I didn't have much inspiration. Please comment and tell me what you think!! thank you.


	8. The Importance of Moss 8.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was stupid how soft and squishy Laurence made him feel, and he never wanted to admit that he felt this way about him but it was clear. He liked how they kissed and liked how their fingers just tangled up together and how their teeth clack and lips push.

Kier and Laurence did leave the tree. Not just from respect for Luke but also because it really would be nice to be alone. Not proper alone, because there was all these things around them but they’d still be mainly alone. No Drew, no scary Cyrus from the Corrigan troop and no Luke – even if he never was particularly annoying, but it was still nice to be alone. They could do whatever they wanted and there was some near thrill in being alone together.

They walked a little past the river, flying over the streaming of the blue. Kier’s the one who pushes their hands together, sliding their fingers together and running his fingers over the pale white vines of Laurence’s hands. Maybe he presses his fingers down a little hard, pushing over the vines. It’s not weird, he just likes touching him a lot and Laurence always gets this smile on his face and Kier always wants to kiss him.

“It’s weird, y’know,” Laurence hums, turning and pressing his back against a pale grey stone. Kier frowns at him, because he doesn’t know what’s weird, but he doesn’t care because Laurence is pressed up against a stone and he presses himself closer. He presses their fisted hands against the stone, and looks up towards his darker haired troop-leader. His nose bumps against his chin, and a grin smothers his face. He just likes this close proximity with Laurence. “Having someone else here.”

Kier shrugs because he doesn’t really care too much about having a new troop member anymore, because he’s alone with Laurence and he wants to press closer and ignore the fact that there’s a troop member. He just wants to immerse himself in Laurence.

“Yeah, I guess,” he mumbled, tilting his head a little more, and his nose bumps his chin again. He pulls on Laurence’s hands so that he’s a little more down to the proper height.

“Hey,” Laurence grinned, their noses nudging together in a bump of affection. “Hey, gorgeous.”

The red headed boy scrunches his nose up, and he made it look like he didn’t actually like being complimented by Laurence. He did. He loved being like this with Laurence, loved the soft touches and the soft name calling that he did. It made him want to bury against Laurence and cuddle him forever, and maybe never actually go back to the troop. He could do that.

“I really want to kiss you,” Kier admitted, dropping their hands  
apart. He slid his hands up onto Laurence’s hips, digging his fingers tips into his sides with a smile stretching onto his face.

Laurence grinned, tucking his arms around Kier’s neck. “Now, who’d want that?”

Kier’s wings twitch a little bit from where they’re drooped out, the wings dragging against the ground before popping up again with the news that they were going to kiss. Laurence’s wings were pinned up against the little stone, but they were twitching just slightly.

“Dunno, babe,” murmured Kier, tugging a little at Laurence’s hips, at the same time that Laurence pushes his fingers between the brown strands. They both tug each other forward, and their lips meet. It’s not the first time that they’ve kissed, they do it a lot (Luke knows this) and it’s obvious in the way that they just fit. With fingers pushing into soft skin and hands clutching at chunks of dark hair.

Laurence drops his hands a little more and they run over the tight muscles of his shoulders that hold up the stretches of red wings. His fingers dig against the muscle and run over the dark red vines that roll down from where his wings stretch out and he scratches over the lines with blunt nails, down to where the vines pale and the fur of his cover-up is stretched out over the slight raise of his arse.

Kier groans against Laurence’s mouth, and he digs his fingers into the pale flesh of Laurence’s hips, the white vines on his skin pushing out a little more obvious as he did. Kier thinks he’s the most gorgeous person ever and a grin ruins their kiss, but it’s nice. Stretched lips with teeth only slightly clacking against each other. It doesn’t matter, because nothing can really ruin this moment.

The red head pushed his hips a little against Laurence’s thigh, and presses his nose up against his neck, his arms a loop around his neck so that he can mess with the black hair. “Love you,” he smiled, his hips still pressed against thigh and his eyes still bright. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply.

Laurence runs his fingers over the warm of Kier’s back, and nods only slightly before nuzzling his nose up against the mess of bright red hair that tickles against his chin. “Hm. Love you, too, babe,” he murmured back absently. His fingers rubbed absently at the small of Kier’s back, fingers pressing slightly into the top of the soft fur pelt.

“We’re screwed, you know that?” Kier murmured, tugging his hands back and flopping back onto the ground and his wings quickly scoot out of the way, and move into this flared position, as if glaring at Kier for near squishing them. Laurence joins him on the floor and his wings tuck up, his hand reaching out and clamping around Kier’s. He tugged him closer and the red head pressed his cheek against Laurence’s shoulder, a tiny frown between his curved brows.

“We quite possibly are,” Laurence agreed absently. “But then we might not be. We might have gained something, by gaining this someone. Maybe it won’t go well, but maybe it will and maybe he will indivertibly help us, babe. What if he helps stop the Corrigan’s going crazy on our arses?”

Kier laughs a little bit and shrugged a little, he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. “But what if he hurts Drew? What if he gets him all attached—you know how Drew is with people, babe—and then just leaves as soon as Drew gets him flying again? I couldn’t stand that, at all. I couldn’t, Laur. I don’t want Drew to ever be hurt, you know?”

And Laurence does know. He knows how much Drew gets attached to people and he knows how distraught he gets when said person leaves. It’s not nice to handle with. You have to find all this stuff to distract him away from the fact that he was left again, but nothing seems to do it right. Laurence just hopes and fucking prays that this Cyrus fellow isn’t going to leave Drew behind as soon as he can fly with that fucking crooked wing and a half.

“Yeah, babe, I know,” Laurence sighed. He pressed his nose up against Kier’s head, nuzzling against his temple and dragging his lips over the pale skin. His hand lifts up to his hair and pushes through the short strands at the sides and sliding through the clump of bright red at the front. Kier’s wings shake just a little, catching on the dark strands of Laurence’s hair.

Laurence grins, tapping their wings together in an affectionate manner.

“You know you’re a dick,” murmured Kier, a grin spreading over his face. He turned his head and bumps their noses, giving him another kiss full of teeth and when they pull back there’s a string of spit shining and pulling tight from where it hangs from their lips.

Laurence smirks and licks his lips, breaking the string of spit. “I did not know that,” he told him, honestly. He lifted his hand and caressed his fingers over his ears, pushing his thumb over the point at the top of his ear. He leans down and bites at the point, a grin coming onto his face.

Kier’s wings twitch a little more, clipping against Laurence’s face. “Well, now you know, huh?” he asked, looking at him with these huge brown eyes and a grin on his face. He pushed up onto his knees and pressed his palms down onto Laurence’s knees so that he can stand up. He tugged Laurence up with him, hands tangled together and smiles wide.

“D’you want to go wash, love? Or stay and kiss for fucking ever?” offered Laurence softly, pressing their fingers together. His hands were larger than Kier’s. He turned the red headed boys hand around, bringing his hand up against his mouth and dragging his lower lip against the thick red vines along his fingers.

“Kiss for fucking ever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the chapter, finally. I'm sorry it wasn't here sooner, but I kept getting so distracted. I hope this fills your Keveridge needs, I quite liked writing this chapter because I like writing couple smush. I cannot wait for the Timids to be like this but I am not going to rush this. This is for my friend who is finally drawing fanart for this! c:


	9. The Importance of Moss 9.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't a proper fairy, not really. Not if he couldn't fly. It'd probably be better if he were to cut off his wings, then he'd have an excuse as to why he's not flying.

Drew turned to his side and peered over at his new friend, his wings pushing out just slightly to balance himself as he rolled to his stomach. The other wasn’t looking at him, more so smiling sadly into the ground. It made Drew frown slightly because he didn’t like the idea of Cyrus being sad just because he couldn’t fly. It wasn’t like it was something that they couldn’t fix, because they could, because was flying really so hard without the help of two full wings? Even if it was, it didn’t mean that they couldn’t at least try.

“Are you alright, Cyrus?” Drew asked him quietly, leaning over and nudging his fingers up against the others arm, touching the weird white stuff that was around his arms. The other boys’ wings twitched just slightly as his shoulders lifted in this half-arsed shrug.

“Yeah. I’m good,” the other smiled, pushing himself up to a sitting position. He pushed his hands against his knees, pushing them down slightly before he just let them rest there. “Shall we try again?”

Drew grins, glad that he wasn’t too sad about not actually flying. He too pushed himself up, spreading his wings out to keep himself from falling to the ground. Cyrus gave him smile from behind his dirty blonde hair, that fell over his eyes and covered the corners of his smile. It was kind of adorable, but it’s not like Drew would admit that he thought that. He didn’t even know Cyrus. He shouldn’t be thinking of him as adorable, nor should he even be trusting him. Hell, he shouldn’t have even bought him back to the troop because he was basically bringing back a spy! He was stupid for doing it but it didn’t make him regret his decision. Drew knew he wouldn’t have actually been able to leave the poor soul shivering under his pitiful pull of moss.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” asked Cyrus from where he now stood on top of the pale rock they’d been stood on before. He had his wings slightly drooped but still spread. It was a pretty sight. The sunlight caught in the wings and made them practically glow, and the clean slice of the half wing looked as though it were glistening.

Drew blinked. “You have pretty wings.”

He could already see the doubt on Cyrus’ face, and he wasn’t graced with a reply, which Drew might have been thankful for. What if Cyrus had said that he disagreed and their time together had become sad? He didn’t want Cyrus to be sad about his wings, because, like he had said before, he thought they were very pretty. Even if they weren’t intact.

“We going to fly then?” whispered the other one, looking more timid than he normally did.

And Drew says yes because he liked to fly and he liked the idea of teaching someone else how to do so. Even if the someone else already knew how to do the flying.

“Well, yeah. That’s what we’re here for,” Drew agreed, and gave him a bright smile.

They practice for so long and the best they get is this little hover that’s slightly off, but it makes Drew smile so huge and bundle Cyrus over with the weight of his excitement- because he’d made some sort of progress, right? Even if it was stuff that infants were capable of. It didn’t make him feel like any less of a proud friend, and all that. He didn’t stop twice to think that maybe Cyrus didn’t want to be hugged or whatever.

Cyrus still felt kind of stupid that he couldn’t fly. It was basic things of being a fae. It was something that even the little ones could do and it made him feel pathetic, and not a proper fae. He wasn’t, was he? Not without his wings. Maybe he’d be better off without them at all, then at least he’d have a real excuse as to why he wasn’t flying. He felt like a sorry case that Drew simply pitied. He didn’t think that Drew actually wanted to help him; it was probably because he had nothing better to do unless he wanted to collect moss and that was boring.

But here they were, with Luke, collecting up food and whatever else that they could find. One of those black fruits managed to explode over Luke’s face which had given him and Drew amusement for a couple of minutes. It had left them near hysterical.

“Where do we find these, though?” Luke asked- after wiping his face off with a leaf- and tugged at the white clothing that Cyrus wore.

That would probably be something that made little sense to this troop, Cyrus thought, because they weren’t like the Corrigans. They were completely different troops, and not just because his troop were so-called demons and not fae, but because of where they were from and which resources they had. Cyrus pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Not on the ground,” Cyrus mumbled, and gave a shrug. He didn’t really want to say where his old troop had lived during the months because he felt as though that would be a deep betrayal to them, even if they had betrayed him into exile. He felt like he should protect them, no matter what, and maybe that was only because that’s how he’d been raised.

“What even are they!” Drew exclaimed, exasperated, as he tugged on the black waistcoat that Cyrus wore. It was awkward because it made Cyrus’ wings shudder just slightly from where they poked out of the clothes. He didn’t like being touched, but Drew seemed to think he did. “They’re not proper clothes!” he says as he tugged at the top of the fur pelt that his entire troop wore.

Luke nodded. “They’re not.”

“Well, what else could they be?” Cyrus had asked, kicking the ends of his shoes against the ground. Drew and Luke didn’t have shoes; their feet were bare and showed all the vines down their skin. It might have been beautiful if Cyrus allowed himself to look.

Drew shrugged as his fingers clamped over a bit of moss. He tugged. “Imposters,” he suggested.

The moss popped free and Drew stumbled back. He looked triumphant, though his wings didn’t look happy. They were pointed like Kier’s were this morning, seemingly pissed off that he’d near fell on them without so much as a friendly warning, or something.

“They don’t feel like imposters,” Cyrus had protested, his fingers running over the material. His wings twitched, a nervous twitch. What if they were imposters? Meant only to hurt him and his troop? He suddenly wanted them off but did not want to show signs of weakness, because he was not weak.

Luke shrugged, looking over his shoulder from where he was tugging at moss. “Imposters aren’t meant to feel like imposters. What if they’re tricks?” the moss fell loose and he put it onto the pile on top of a slightly dried up leaf. He looked at the pile as if calculating if they needed more, before going to pluck at more.

Cyrus sat on the floor. He crossed his arms over his stomach and let his wings slump slightly. He didn’t reply and Not just because he felt uncomfortable about what they were saying, but also because he didn’t like to talk. He didn’t even like speaking to his own troop, let alone another troop of fae that was tiny- it only had four members, which was so opposite to his plus thirty. A troop that he knew nothing about. A troop that he shouldn’t be trusting. They were probably planning war or something against the Corrigan.

It was while he was thinking so deeply, ignoring the others’ talk of his imposter clothes, that Kier and Laurence walked back. Their hands were a little close and their wings were brushing and Cyrus imagined them to be together, but he didn’t say anything, and just tugged with the string in his boots and kept his wings still.

“Awesome job, guys!” Kier says, and he’s smiling, and there’s something about it that makes Cyrus uneasy. Maybe he just doesn’t feel well today. Maybe it’s this troop. Maybe they were magic or something and were fucking with his head. “Moss is deeply important.”

And with that, Kier launched into a ramble about the importance of moss and everything seemed normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took a while to update, but I've been working on another Frerard fic. I really hate myself for the whole getting more into My Chem after they've broken up, how depressing is that?? Anyway, please tell me what you think!!


	10. The Importance of Moss 10.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are so many rooms in the tree, Drew hadn't noticed before, but now he sees and there's a hell of a lot of work to be done.

It was fourteen light-and-darks after Drew had shown up and it was cold. The troop stayed inside their tree. The wind was bitter and crashed everything in its path, only set for destruction. There were light splatters of rain which soaked the fae with just one drop and everything was this muggy grey colour—they could barely see five feet in front of them. So the troop leaders had decided that it would be much safer to stay inside their tree, to sort through their food for the winter, to make sure they had enough of everything now that they had another member of the troop.

The tree was a lot bigger than Drew had originally thought. He’d only actually been into three sections of the tree- the place where they slept, the place where they were to store their moss and soft furs, and the place where they kept their food. It turns out that there was a hell of a lot more rooms than he had thought. For example there was a little twist of roots that lead through to a smaller room filled with sharp and thorned weapons, filled with dust-mushrooms, filled with acorn caps, tangles of brambles—all preparations for if there were to be a war, a battle, anything that meant their troop would be in danger. There was also a room filled with more moss, more food, more sleeping clothes, little acorn caps that they’d use for cooking, for collecting water before it all iced over. There was a room filled with all the medical herbs and flowers that they knew about. There was so much he hadn’t known existed and it was exciting to finally see it all.

He and Cyrus had to count the food that they’d collected. Kier was checking the clumps of moss to make sure they were all good enough, all going to be enough for the winter that was coming. Laurence was looking over the weapons, making sure they were all well looked after—Laurence was always the main leader when it came to the battles—making sure that nothing would break in first use. Luke was checking over the medicine, making sure they had the right flowers, right herbs for any injury that might happen. It was all a little industry of checking and making sure.

It was boring. They had many blackberries, many little seeds, many fruits. They’d drawn lines onto the floor as they counted and they had enough of everything for an extra person and themselves. 

It was also awfully cold, and the moss that they took from Kier’s sorting piles only helped a little bit. The pressing against each other and snuggling was more of what hindered the bitter draft that came from a little more up.

Cyrus liked Drew. He liked that the blonde fae wasn’t always asking questions on his troop, wasn’t always asking why half his wing was missing. He didn’t like Kier, but that was mutual. He could tell that the troop didn’t fully trust him, which he understood. Laurence tried to act like he did trust him but Cyrus hadn’t missed the little glanced that he had gotten from the white-winged fae. Luke was kind of uncaring about the whole situation, but Cyrus didn’t like him because he was always asking about the Corrigan and it made him uncomfortable because he’d rather not say.

“May I try the squares on?” asked Drew from where he sat in front of Cyrus. A lump of moss was bundled on his lap and he was leaning forward, scratching lines onto the ground for every blackberry. His back was curved, pale, with vibrant blue vines falling from his wings that were relaxed and soft. “Cy?”

He’d hesitated too long. “What squares?” 

Drew glanced back at him and this smile was on his face, slightly crooked teeth showing his fondness of the green-winged fae’s confusion. “The squares, the one’s on your face,” he says, leaning forward and pressing his middle finger to the curve of metal that pressed over the bridge of Cyrus’ nose much like a child would have done.

“My glasses?” asked Cyrus, a little surprised. Drew frowned and pressed his finger against the metal again, and repeated his question, asking if he could try ‘the squares’ on. Cyrus told him that they were called glasses, but put his fingers on the arms on either side to take them from his face so that he could pass them over to Drew.

The glasses make Drew’s eyes look bigger, and he goes slightly cross eyed when he actually looked through the glass lenses. Cyrus hadn’t seen any other fae where glasses before and he thinks that they look very funny, but then he probably looks just as funny. He has only ever seen himself in the flowing rivers that cut all the valleys into half, into quarter.

“How do I look?” asked Drew, turning to look at Cyrus in the eyes.

Cyrus let out a little laugh. “Your eyes are all funny,” he says honestly, leaning forward. Their noses bumped and he looked into Drew’s eyes, with their foreheads pressing together, solid. He’d also gone cross eyed and Drew was laughing and exclaiming that Cyrus only actually had one eye. 

The blonde one took the glasses from his face and passed them back to their rightful owner who propped them onto his nose and brushed back his dirty blonde hair so that he could look at Drew and hopefully radiate how at home he made him feel. But even then that would be a lie, because he doesn’t feel at home with drew and he thinks that that is possibly a good thing because home is getting ready for battle constantly, home is doing drills when the orange light glows in the sky, home is protecting the women and the fae from their death. Home isn’t here with Drew. Home isn’t laughing, it’s not smiling and this is nicer than home because there’s no stress, no death if he fails.

In that moment Cyrus is glad that he’d not with his troop anymore.

“Your face is all funny,” retorted Drew, a slow grin coming onto his face.

Cyrus chucked a stick at him with his own timid smile contrasting heavily against Drew’s white grin.

-

Laurence appears from the weapons store with scratches red against his arms, his hair is slightly mussed and there’s more dirt smudging his already dirty face. He’d got his fingers all spread and is looking at them and mumbling to himself as he blindly walked to where Kier was counting the moss, the cooking stuff and all that.

“We have this many—“ he holds up his two spread hands, closes them and then opens them again once Kier had counted how many, and waits for Kier to count the fingers again, before holding up his thumb, index and middle finger—“thorn spears. We have-“ he holds up a spread hand, a finger and a thumb- “dust-mushrooms and we have-“ he holds up the same hands-“ acorn caps and we have a tone of bramble tangles.”

Kier nodded and scratched lines into the ground so that he could remember and look at that later. He glanced up to the other troop leader and his face dipped slightly in a frown as he saw the red contrasting against the bright white on his vines. He didn’t like it and his wings pressed tight against his back in a concerned sort of way, they twitched and Kier stepped forward. “Are you okay?”

The dark haired one looked down at made eye contact with the other troop leader. “I’m fine, babe, it’s just a few scratches- they don’t hurt.”

Kier nodded. He was always too protective and too worried about Laurence, ever since his wing got torn in the battle against the Corrigan all those lights-and-darks ago. He didn’t want him to hurt like he had done when that had happened, that was all. There had been so much blood and it had stained the white so much, and Laurence’s eyes hadn’t been open and it had scared Kier so much. He’d thought he’d lost him at one point but Luke had done something with the flowers, with the sting of a nettle and Laurence’s eyes had opened and he wasn’t dead. He had made it.

“Darlin’, you gotta stop worrying, okay?” Laurence murmured, pressing his arms around Kier’s waist and leaning his body forwards. He pressed their foreheads together and promised again that he was fine. Kier closed his eyes and let his frown show, dark eyebrows scrunched together. “We’ll be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is kind of shitty and fillery!  
> Also look out for another Frerard fic that I'm writing, it's got ten thousand words so far!


	11. The Importance of Moss 11.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was something big, and it was loud.

It happened too quickly, too abruptly to make sense. They’d been collecting moss- what else did they do when they went outside? - when there’d been these thundering sounds, loud thuds against the ground that shook it and made the fae jump. Everything had been normal until that had happened, the quaking of the earth and the too loud noises.

Cyrus had grabbed onto Drew almost immediately, the blue-winged one had suspected that it was fear, but his face was just wide with realization of something. Drew didn’t know what. Then Cyrus was dragging him, with all his might, away from the loudening footsteps and the quaking earth, trying to escape from whatever was around them. He’d even tried to fly, trying to find safety from whatever it was, but he couldn’t fly, and they ended up stumbling together.

The stumble was the downfall, in the literal sense, as well. They didn’t get up quick enough and they lost any chance of getting up, the ground was shaking too hard and everything was too loud. Cyrus shoved his hands over Drew’s ears and the other did the same back, pressing his face up against the others shoulder and waiting for whatever was coming for them. 

Something grabbed Drew and the quaking and the sounds stopped momentarily, but instead the void of silence was filled with Drew shouting for Cyrus as he was pulled away from the half-winged fae. He didn’t know what was grabbing onto him, but by the size of Cyrus’ eyes it seemed he did, and that scared Drew more than anything- what if this was the thing that cut off poor Cyrus’ wing? 

So he did what any sensible fae would do, he kicked and he bit and he punched and he wriggled, trying to get free, but his wings were pinned and the grip only got tighter. He was lifted so high that all Cyrus was, was a flailing blob of green and black, screeching and shouting words that he couldn’t hear. Drew went limp in the grip, thinking if he played along, he might be able to go back to his troop, and he’d be safe, but the grip did not relent and soon he could no longer see Cyrus. 

The thundering sounds were loud now, but Drew figured that the thing holding him was making the awful noise. 

Something hit against his head, and then he saw black.

-

Cyrus was panicking. He also felt like a shit friend because he hadn’t saved him, he couldn’t have saved him, and depressed him to no end because he knew where Drew was going because he’d been there before and he’d lost his wing there, too. He didn’t want Drew to go through what he had been through, he didn’t want the blue wings to be harmed in any sort of way, he’d blame himself entirely if they even tried to hurt Drew like they hurt him.

He was going to save him, and they were going to get him out before they clean-sliced his wing and that was a promise.

Cyrus started to run back to the tree.

-

Everyone is there when he eventually stumbles in, his face is red and his eyes are widened with panic, they’re going to their natural full black-green with the pure worry he’s feeling. He’s blaming himself, more than anything, he knows he should have done more to stop the thing from grabbing onto Drew but he couldn’t. He knew he would have been nabbed himself, and then who would know where they had gone?

“Cyrus—are you alright?” asks Laurence carefully.

The blonde shook his head erratically, and his wings fluttered restlessly as he tried to put what had just happened into words. He was kind of panicking and spluttering everything and it wasn’t pleasant but it also wasn’t getting out what he wanted—no, needed—to tell his adoptive troop.

Kier, surprisingly, jumped up from where he was pressed against Laurence, and stood carefully in front of Cyrus. One hand pushed down against his shoulder, and the other vice-gripped around the slight sharp of his chin, forcing him into looking straight into solid black-red eyes.

“Calm the fuck down and tell me what’s happening,” ordered the red head in this firm voice that made him sound like the true leader of the troop.

Cyrus was shaking and trying to pull back from the intense stare that Kier was giving him because it was making him more nervous than he already was. He stumbled back, somehow escaping from Kier’s vice grip and looked around the three with big eyes. “We have to leave, right now,” he gushed, stumbling forward and trying to collect something of Drew’s from the floor. “Drew—he, he was taken and we have to go save him—“

The three seemed more like they cared now that Drew was involved which made sense more than anything because he was part of their troop and Cyrus was barely accepted.

Cyrus didn’t care about himself right now, though, he cared about the fact that Drew was going to get his fucking wings clipped.

-

Drew didn’t know what was happening. Everything was bright and blinding, there was too much yellow and too much shine and it hurt his eyes to look at it too long. He kept his wings folded around himself, curled them tight around his body as a protective shield against whatever it was that was too loud and too bright just outside of his protective layer. 

He was scared. There was no other was to describe it. He didn’t know where he was, he didn’t know why Cyrus wasn’t with him and he had no idea how far away he was from home. Hell, he didn’t even know if he’d ever see his troop again, and it scared him, how would he survive if he didn’t have his troop with him? He’d never been in such a situation and he hated that he was.

He prayed to the highest fae that someone would fucking save him, and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so late, and awful.


	12. The Importance of Moss 12.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was all so white here.

It was too bright, all around him was just blurred patches of shining white. It made it more blatant that he wasn’t where he usually would be, in the tree, or in the flower-beds, and it wasn’t a nice feeling. He’d never not been with his troop, and something sat heavy and achy in his chest, and he could only assume that it was from being so far away from his family. It was obvious that this place- whatever it was, he did not know- was not the tree. The light was the main giveaway that he was not at home, because in the tree there was little light but dulled oranges and yellows. Another sign that he shouldn’t be there was that nobody was pressed up against him. It was a comfort that he’d gotten too accustomed to, so much so that it was lonely and cold not to have it. After all Fae were supposed to live in their troops for as long as they lived, it was natural, and the only way for proper survival. The loners died on their own, that’s why he’d picked up Cyrus. It was also weird, having lived with a troop his whole life, to wake up with his wings not tangled with another’s pair. It may have been annoying when it was happening, but now he missed it and the family feeling it brought, it was so different from now, because here he was alone.

There were so many questions in his head, swirling around and shoving away rational thoughts. The number of questions only increased with each moment because he had little else to do but think. He was stuck in his own head until something happened and who knew when something would? So he began to think up answers to his questions. He wanted to know if he was in any sort of danger, that was an obvious worry. Of course he was always in some kind of danger back at the tree but there he was protected by his troop, and here he had no protection bar his hands. He also did not know if protection was a needed thing, but he settled that it was. Perhaps this whole bright white place was just another Fae troop- a very large, and very bright troop- that had decided to pick him up and do as they so wished to him. Maybe this large white Fae was what had ruined Cyrus’ wing, and perhaps he was in danger of losing his whole wing.

Drew did not want to think of what would happen then. Not only would he no longer be able to each Cyrus to fly again, but he’d have to be taught. He’d never really thought about not being able to fly before and didn’t really give much thought into being taught, but now that he was, he didn’t like it. He thought about how Cyrus must feel and how awfully patronising Drew must have seemed when he was trying to teach him to fly again. It seemed useless now, because it wasn’t that he’d forgotten how to fly, it was more of the fact that he was simply disabled from flight.

He curled his own wings around himself forming a protective shell, of sorts. His wings felt heavy and damp, though as he nudged the droplets of water away the waxy petal-like texture of his wing came through and he felt slightly comforted. At least he still had his wings. He clenched his fingers around the rounded curve of the tip of the stark blue wing and closed his eyes tightly. The vines that ran over his eyelids and across the lines of his cheekbones pushed out slightly, a darker, starker blue pulsing more obviously.

Maybe when he opened his eyes he’d be home again.

-

It wasn’t like they could leave without provisions as they simply did not know how long it would take to save Drew from the large white-bright Fae that had taken him. They also had to think about what they could meet along the way, like Fae troops that they’d done battle with whom still held their grudges or maybe those awful, eight legged creatures with those large black eyes that were the main fear of the small troop. They had to be prepared for every situation, but they also had to leave soon, because the longer it took to save Drew, the worse his situation could get.

Cyrus was the most panicked about the whole thing- not to say that the other members of the troop weren’t panicking, because they certainly were, it was just that Cyrus was doing an excessive amount of said panicking- because he insisted he knew what had Drew. He knew the whole extent of the situation that Drew was in, and he also knew where said situation was taking place. He’d not left it that long ago, after all. Cyrus claimed that the large white Fae were what had taken him and what had sliced the top of his wing clean off, he told them the story of how they’d tried to cut the bright green appendage from where it connected to the muscle at the base of his shoulder blades. He’d dodged out of the way, but still, his wing had still been sliced and he’d bled little pale droplets of red. They’d been eager to get some of that too, though Cyrus hadn’t understood why as they were both Fae.

They had their provisions ready for very situation that they could face, and though there was a lot, it had been packed so that it could be easily shed if needed; it was also light enough that there would be little strain to take it. The troop had agreed on walking- on simple curtosey to Cyrus, who obviously could not fly- though it would have been quicker for them to fly, and easier as Fae’s feet were not designed for walking on them for long amounts of times. They were very fragile and cut very easily, even with the little fur-boots that they wore as protection.

On little curved and crisped leaves they carried a few clumps of moss- for the warmth-, a few blackened berries, some thorn-sticks in case they came across angry troops they’d once battled or worse those eight legged beasts that were so fearsome and scary that they packed more thorn sticks than necessary. There was also little acorn helmets that they’d picked for the same reason, and then reels of the healing leaves that Luke collected, just in case Drew was hurt when they saved him.

-

He’d fallen asleep on the uncomfortable ground again; it was cold against his wings as he shuffled from his sleep-clouded stupor. his eyes were big and doey as he blinked erratically against the bright white that was everywhere, pushing his palms onto the floor he pushed himself into a sitting position, and let his wings drop their cocoon of safety. He wanted to explore this strange white place, but feared that if he so moved something truly terrible- like losing his wing, possibly- could and would certainly happen to him. So he stayed still, and stared wide and blue eyed at the white and awaited its change of colour.

He didn’t know how long he stared for, but the patience served a purpose, because something was happening to the white, as it wasn’t as white as it had been previously. There was a large set of eyes staring at him, they were a dark shade of brown and reminded him of Laurence, though these eyes weren’t as kind looking, or holding the same amount of love that Laurence’s usually did. Drew scuffled back from the eyes, scared by the large-ness of them and the solid look in them. it was unnerving and he desperately wished that they were Laurence’s- any of troops- eyes.

The mouth that curved underneath a thin nose moved, and a dreadful, awful sound came out. It hurt his ears, it was louder than the thudding sound that had erupted by his ears when he’d first been taken by the large white Fae. This mouth didn’t look much like a Fae to Drew, not any Fae that he knew. There were no thick lines of colour over his face, and there was no obvious definition of a pair of wings. Realising that this…thing, was not a Fae, made him more uncomfortable.

He curled up in his wings, hands cupping over his ears to block the sound, and for the first time since this predicament, he began to sob. Sob for his troop, sob for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a new chapter, finally.


	13. The Importance of Moss.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were fighting and it wasn't good.

Later, Drew decided that sobbing was stupid. It wasn’t like such a pathetic action would bgrin him back to his troops and it certainly would not protect him from the Not-Fae, he wasn’t sure if anything could protect him from the Not-Fae. The Not-Fae has watched him for a while, with wide brown eyes that were full of interest, and something else a little more sour. He’d made that awful sound again, louder, with another sound of scratching joining it. When he’d left, and Drew had ceased his sobbing he began to think again. He thought about his troop and wondered if they actually cared about him being taken. He knew that the thought was irrational because he knew that he knew that they cared, but his mind was doing horrible things like one’s mind does when left to its own accords. He knew that this predicament wasn’t permanent, but he also didn’t know how temporary it was either. He had little concept of time in this strange white place because it was always white-light, or so it appeared. Drew guessed that he may have been here for one Light-and-Dark, and he smudged a finger-thick line onto the see through cage to keep count, one down, High-Fae knows how many to go.

Deciding that sitting here doing nothing was boring, and simply not helping the situation, Drew stood and decided to explore his surroundings- perhaps he’d scope out an exit or make one himself if he had to. He spread out his wings for balance and took a wobbling step forwards into the depth of white that lay out in front of him. The white slowly changed though, turning into more solid shapes, more colourful shapes. Sunk into the ground in front of him was a pool of the cleanest looking water Drew has ever laid his eyes on, it glistened blue in the false light it was surrounded by. Around the sparkling water were thick stems with lush amounts of leaves. Drew didn’t know where to trust the homey-vice that it sent off, but he longed for home so much that he bypassed the fact that it could be a fact and walked straight to it.

-

And so their quest had begun, it was to be a long, adventurous, and possibly dangerous task, but in the name of a rescue, it was all going to be taken on the chin, taken well because at the end of quest they’d have Drew back and that really was the only important thing.

Cyrus was leading the troop, simply because he was the only one who knew the way. It annoyed Kier more that it annoyed Luke and Laurence, for two reasons, number one because he was the leader and he should be the one leading the rescue mission for Drew and secondly he knew that Cyrus was someone that they could not trust- he was a damn Corrigan, that spoke for itself, they were the troop that they fought against more than any and he was a part of the troop, or was. It didn’t matter, he was untrustworthy. It was annoying that they had to trust him in order to save Drew from whatever had him.

“How do you know where he is?” Kier asked after about two metres of walking (you must remember that Fae aren’t as big as you and I, so two metres if an awfully long walk). 

Cyrus looked back from where he was walking at the front of the troop. He looked odd at the front of the group, a somewhat uncomfortable hunch to his shoulders, and his wings dragging a little ungracefully near his covered ankles. His hands were clenched tightly around the stem of a leaf that he was dragging along. “I don’t,” he admits. “It’s just a hunch.”

A hunch?! They might have been walking to their unavoidable death all because the Corrigan had a hunch? Cyrus continued like he hadn’t just seen Kier’s expression, “It’s a pretty good hunch. I don’t think they could have taken him anywhere else,” he looked thoughtful, the black green veil of his eyes flashing momentarily. “You should trust me, Kier. I’m not leading you to a trap—“

“How do we know that?” Kier snapped, expression curling into a snarl. He’d stopped walking now, dropping his hands from his carrier-leaf so that his hands were free. He stamped forwards, wings flicking expressively as he flattened his hands against Cyrus’ chest and shoved the dirty-blonde back hard. “How, Cyrus?”

The dirty-blonde stumbled back, his right foot stopping him from falling, though he looked a little winded and a little shocked at what had just happened. His eyes flashed again in a solid black. “You don’t. I guess you’ll just have to trust me,” growled the Corrigan, his lip curving up in a soft snarl.

The other two were silent and left Cyrus and Kier to glare through solid black eyes towards each other, just letting the anger towards the other cool down as much as it could. Laurence glanced between the two, the purple swirling in the black pools of his eyes, his wings twitching nervously, “can we leave, we don’t have time for this right now.”

So they left, because Laurence was one of the leaders and he had last say.

-

The pool of water was cool against his feet. He sat against the edge and just paddled his toes into it, his elbows pressing against the coloured lines against his knees. He didn’t trust the green around him, and didn’t trust the pool enough to get fully into it. He stared at the water, watching the reflections of white change every now and then, and he didn’t look up when the Not-Fae entered the room for the second time.

He knew that it might not matter that he wasn’t looking at the Not-Fae when he came in but he felt that it was some kind of rebellion towards his situation, but he also didn’t want to see the Not-Fae because it dragged him out of his illusion that he was home and with his troop, and what a nice illusion that was.

After some time of ignoring the Not-Fae, the top of the see-through cage disappeared and a large hand appeared again, and Drew ran from it, but it wasn’t enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this sucks sorry


	14. The Importance of Moss 14.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was letting out all the rage he felt towards him.

They really weren’t welcoming, not in the way that Fae’s were taught to be welcoming, in any way. They weren’t giving food and they weren’t checking to see if he was alright and it was weird. It made the whole situation a whole lot more uncomfortable than it had the potential to be. If they gave out some little snacks or maybe he would just like it more if he had his troop with him.

When they grabbed him, it wasn’t for anything more than looking, as far as Drew had realised. They’d stared at him, at the thick vines running all over his body in awkward sky blue, at the spread of his matching blue flower petal wings. They lifted up this shining rectangular box that flashed bright in his eyes, making the veil of black shutter over in a protective shield in front of his eyes. It scared him, the flashing box, and as soon as it happened he went onto reflex, twisting in the grip, clawing, hissing and scratching with all the might he did when he was in battle. That ended with him being thrown across the room.

It wasn’t pleasant, to be honest and black had blurred his vision properly for more than a few moments and there’s been that side panic that maybe the white thing with the big eyes would be the last thing that he’d see. If he died – Drew had a theory that he simply couldn’t- then the last thing that he wanted to see was his troop and that was all. But he was away from them and he could die.

What could be worse than being apart from one's troop? Dying without one's troop. There was that nagging fear that maybe these weird; wingless fae were out to kill him and they were just dragging it on a little bit. The impact with the wall felt as though he would die, but he didn't, and he didn't know if he was thankful or not for it. He'd never thought like that before and he only was now because there was the possibility that he'd never see his troop again; and a lonely fae was a very dead fae.

The wingless ones hadn't been back since the incident, and Drew was hoping profusely that it would remain that way. He liked being alone in this place (he simply hated it when he was with his troop) because it gave him time to think of means of freedom, and that was the main important thing at the moment.

Though, so far, there were no marvelous plans coming to mind. Drew wasn't really the one who made plans, he wasn't really the one that did much. Luke was in charge of medicine, Kier was simply /in charge/, and Laurence was pretty damn strategic with minimal help from the troop. Drew was the one they looked after, which would have made sense if he were the youngest, which he was not. He just needed looking after for ways he couldn't really remember, and ways the troop didn't tell him often. Cyrus was probably some insane weapons expert, since he had been a Corrigan. It must be some kind of requirement.

Drew also got distracted easily, so making plans never really worked. For example, now he was imagining Cyrus covered in this thick blood- that was mostly the blood of his enemies, not his own- and a spiked stick clamped in gloved hands. He looked fierce, and the black-green of his eyes was unforgiving. Drew's mind was too exciting to worry about getting out of here, for the moment, anyway.

-

The troop weren't talking, at all. Kier was pissed off at Laurence for not being pissed off at Cyrus, and then Laurence was pissed off at Kier for being kind of dumb, and Cyrus was pissed off at Kier for being an ass and Kier was pissed at Cyrus for being Corrigan. Luke was kind of mutual, but felt awkward to converse with anyone when there was such tension between them all.

They were about twenty one metres away from the tree now, and though they'd rested plentiful amounts yet they were still tired and getting bored with each other and the pain in their feet. There’d been multiple times where they’d considered leaving Cyrus to his own devices and flying ahead as much as they could, simply because the skin on their feet was getting torn and their legs were aching from the excessive use of what was normally ignored.

“My feet hurt,” complained Laurence, stopping in his tracks to sit down and lean against a stranded pebble to rub at the torn and reddened skin of the bottom of his feet with this pitiful look on his face.

Laurence barely complained about anything, so when he eventually did everyone listened to him and the group turned around and stopped what they were doing to observe that what Laurence was saying was definitely true. His feet were possibly the most scraped of them all. Luke and Kier joined him on the floor and rubbed at their own feet, looking equally like recently kicked puppies. Cyrus, however, stayed upright, his arms crossed across his chest as he looked at them, his wings sturdy behind him.

He wanted to keep going because this was Drew in trouble, and it was also his fault that Drew was in said trouble. He wanted to get Drew out of the situation that he was in because Cyrus feared that Drew was getting the same treatment that he did, and possibly by the same people. For all he knew they could be treating Drew worse than they did him, who knew, they might have killed him already. Took too many samples of his blood or cut his wings off far too harshly. Cyrus didn’t know if he would prefer for him to be maimed or for him to be dead, because he knew how hard it was to deal with such a thing.

Kier glares up at where the Corrigan stands. “We’re stopping,” he says sternly, leaned up against Laurence and looking like a concerned lover. At the moment Cyrus wouldn’t be smitten over what the two had, his instincts were coming in to play, and he wanted to go. It wasn’t even his place to be worrying about Drew, and here he was, worrying more about Drew than his own troop were. He didn’t think that they understood how real and how bad of a situation Drew was in.

There were always going to argue, it was more of when it would happen than if it would happen.

“Don’t you think I want to?” he snarls, his lip curling up in anger, hands pressing into the lines of his hips. Of course he wanted to sit down and fuckin’ relax, but he couldn’t because one of their troop was in danger. Not even his own troop. “Look at the bigger fuckin’ picture, Kier!”

The look on Kier’s face is steely, presenting all the hatred he feels towards the other fae. His eyes darken further, getting into a more never-ending shade of black than before, the red completely disappearing. His lip curls up as he pushes to a stand, his wings sharp and out in a defensive manner, spread out to protect Luke and Laurence if Cyrus were to do anything. “Don’t you dare make me feel bad about this. We stop when I say we stop, you don’t get a say in this. Leave if you want to you’re making this even worse than it already is.”

The Corrigan scoffed. “You don’t know where Drew is without me, you idiot! Without me you’re just three lost fae’s in a broken troop!” he exclaimed, eyes fully black and hands fisting at his sides. “How do you plan on getting him back without me?”

Kier’s eyes flashed again and he took a step forwards, grabbing onto that stupid striped thing that wrapped around his neck, uselessly. “I don’t want you to help us, Cyrus. I want to find Drew, and as soon as we’ve done that, you are leaving I don’t care where you go, because as long as its away from me and my troop, I don’t care if you even survive this ‘rescue mission’ because you’re not part of my troop,” he ranted, tightening his grip on the stripes with each word, getting more and more in his face. “You are the fuckin’ enemy, you’re Corrigan scum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh, sorry this is so freaking late, and that it's kind of bitty and weird.


	15. The Importance of Moss 15.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They weren't going to get anywhere arguing, so they might as well stop and think of a good fucking plan.

The outburst had made the trek even more uncomfortable than it had been before. Nobody really wanted to look Kier in the eye anymore because there was a new fear arisen about their ‘fearless’ leader. None of the troop had ever seen Kier like that, not even Laurence, who was also a little frightened of the redheaded leader. He wanted to shake the anger out of him because his anger at Cyrus- at the situation- was going to do nothing to help them at all. He wanted to shake him until he realised that Cyrus was a key part in getting Drew back to safety, and that they needed him. It wasn’t a matter of if they wanted him there because right now they didn’t have a choice. They didn’t get to pick and choose. Cyrus was the key to rescuing Drew and that was what they had to focus on, not the fact that he wore weird things, or the fact that half of his wing was missing or even the fact that he was a Corrigan. It didn’t matter. 

Everyone was on a different page on what was happening but everyone agreed on the outcome: Drew’s safety. Kier was on protecting his troop against Cyrus and Cyrus was only looking out for the fact that Drew could possibly be dead already. Laurence was focussing on not losing all their things that were simply necessity and Luke was focussing on everything all at once. There was a lot to focus on when your troop weren’t talking.

It had been five Light-and-Darks of silence when Laurence cannot stand it anymore. He stamps his sore foot on the ground and flitters from it slightly with twitching and unused wings. “I don’t care if you don’t like each other, but we all have the same goal and we’re going to talk while we achieve our goal, alright?” his tone was patronising and pissed off at the same time.

Kier’s nose turned up slightly and the red shine to his black eyes disappeared for a few seconds before he nodded stiffly. Laurence was their leader as well, and they had to listen to him, even if he didn’t want to. “Fine.”

Cyrus nodded, curt. “Yes.”

“Good,” Laurence muttered glad that the boring attitude towards each other would die down. He dropped back down from where he was hovering just above the strands of grass they’d been venturing through for the past few days. “And I’ve thought of a better means of transport!”

-

Five Lights-and-Darks. Five. Maybe the troop had forgotten that he’d been captured- taken away, he didn’t know how to phrase it. It really was a long time to be without ones troop and the wingless-fae’s were getting harsher with everyone of the Lights-and-Darks and Drew was beginning to fear for the safety of his wings. He had little room to fly around this little see-through casing that he was stuck in and his shoulders ached with the lack of use.

He needed to fly. Not just around this little case, but in a proper area. He felt like he couldn’t breathe if he was stuck- no, trapped here any longer. The air was getting heavier all the time, the water was beginning to taste foul, and the pile where his waste was starting to pollute the place too much. The wingless-fae didn’t seem to understand how awfully horrible it was for the little Fae and he had no way of communicating it to them, either.

On the Light of the fifth day the wingless-fae’s show up with a shell filled with something obscured from the Fae’s view. The taller wingless-fae is looking much like Kier does when he brings back food for the troop, and it frightens Drew because does that mean he was being brought back as food? Did the wingless-fae eat normal fae? Drew was scaring himself.

When the top was shuffled off the top of the case Drew didn’t even try to fly away like he used to. His shoulder’s hurt to move and his wings felt like they were drying up and crinkling from where they’d previously stretched wide and proud from his back. Drew wasn’t proud anymore, he was small and he was frightened. Very frightened.

The wingless-fae says something; loud and echoing, making the ground jut under Drew’s already shaking body. Nothing was comforting about this environment, and he felt guilty for wishing his troop in here with him. The vineless hand of the wingless-fae dips down into the case and grabs onto Drew’s small body, his already scrunched wings getting pushed against his body in awkward angles. 

Drew cried out and the white-cloaked one’s ignored him.

He was carried across the room with the accompanying squeaks of shoes against a tacky floor. The surfaces around were all dark and reflecting the bright sun-like-light above them. there were numerous silver, shining instruments—they looked like weapons to Drew—laid out on the surface and Drew was placed next to the straightest of them all. 

He wondered if he could pick it up and hurt the wingless-fae with it like the troop did in battle, though he doubted that he could lift it. He was too weak to fly, let alone lift something that was too big for him.

Something sharp went through the top of his left wing, and the top of his right wing. Drew screamed, high and scared and twisted in pain.

-

The troop had thought that he’d meant flying, and maybe they’d hoped a little bit, too, but they should have known better. Laurence knew that Cyrus was unable to fly and that it would be highly unfair if they would leave their tracker behind, even if it would please Kier greatly. They probably hadn’t expected his suggestion and probably wouldn’t have thought that they’d actually do it, but here they were, scuttling across the branches of tall green trees, clinging onto the furry neck of a Bushy-Tail.

The Bushy-Tails had been reluctant at first and not wanting to help the small troop, though, had eventually agreed after receiving half of the troops’ leftover provisions. They would take them until Cyrus told them to stop, or less than that. Nobody knew how long this would take or how far away this ‘Hell’ as Cyrus had said (though the troop were unaware of what a ‘hell’ was) was. It could take many more Lights-and-Darks or it could only take a half, nobody was really sure or certain about it.  
This form of transport was much faster and far less painful than walking, though maybe a bit more uncertain and jumpy.

“I can’t believe we agreed to this!” Kier shouts over at Laurence from on top of his own Bushy-Tail. His wings were tight against his back and his shoulders were hunched over in a nervous sort of position. His hands were tight on the bunch of fur at the Bushy-Tail’s neck and he’d received plenty of complaining squeaks about his grip being too tight. 

Laurence grinned over at the redhead. He loved this, no walking and no fucking arguments about the walking. “You love it!” he shouts back, a slight laugh leaving his throat. He tucked his face back against the fur of the back of the Bushy-Tails’ neck as a rush of wind knocked past them and grinned to himself, wide and pale-toothed.

Luke couldn’t get over the view and had gotten many squeaks, telling him to ‘hold the hell on, dumbo’. He’d been high up when he was flying, but never like this and never this fast, everything was zapping past at speed and he just wanted to touch everything because like this it all seemed beautiful, even if it was as mundane and common as a leaf. He wanted to touch, even if it meant falling to his grassy death.

Cyrus wanted to cry from happiness. He felt like he was flying, and he’d forgotten what that had felt like. He held his wings out and let them hang just to feel the rush of wind through them, over them, under them. His hands were shaking from the over-flow of emotions that he was feeling. He knew that when this stopped he’d probably be a shaking mess, but for now he could forget that he couldn’t fly anymore and just pretend for a little longer. He never wanted this to end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I am a bad person.  
> I am so sorry for leaving this for, like, ever. I am awful at updating so I hope that this lives up to any expectations that you might have had for this chapter! (This chapter also made me cry because I realized how long Cyrus will have gone without flying and how amazing it would feel for him to be 'flying' again wow.)  
> aaaalso guess who met Fearless Vampire Killers on Thursday? Me!!! omfg
> 
> oooh and Happy Birthday to the Timids!!! <3xxx


	16. The Importance of Moss 16.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd been taught how to endure pain, and endure pain he goddamn would!

T  
he Bushy-Tails did not take them the whole way, as it was farther away than Cyrus had originally thought and it had been deemed cruel by Laurence for them to continue to use their service. Cyrus had been reluctant when they’d been told to get off, and rightly so, because as soon as he climbed down from his make-shift mode of flying, he collapsed to the ground, shaking and sobbing, with restlessly twitching wings.

He felt sick. He wasn’t flying anymore and it was getting to him. His wings felt too heavy- he felt too heavy. His eyes were burning and the muscles in his shoulders were pinching as if reminding him that there really was no need for the weight of his wings being there. He wanted to rip at them, claw at his shoulders until he didn’t feel the ache anymore, until he really couldn’t fly again. His hands shook as he lifted them, scratching at the base of his wings as well as he could through the material he was wearing. Everything was getting to him, and it was all a punch in the gut. He was going to throw up and he was going to feel even more pathetic than he already did.

“Are you alright?” Laurence asks quietly as he moves, kneeling next to the Corrigan. He wrapped a tight arm around the slim shape of Cyrus’ waist and rubbed his thumb over his hip. He could feel the heavy mesh of vines against his thumb, even through the layer of material Cyrus wore.

He makes a coughing sound. “N-no,” he replied shakily, hands dropping from his shoulders. He felt disappointed when he didn’t see clumps of blood underneath his nails because he wanted nothing more. His hands shook as he pressed them against the ground, holding onto the bottom of a grass strand as if it were a lifeline. “I cannot fly anymore.”

There was a silence amongst the troop once the sentence settled. It was true, Cyrus was unable to fly. But it had been that way for god knows how long, and there’d been little fuss about it since the Corrigan had been with the troop, so it was hard to understand why he was making a fuss now of all times. Kier tried to empathise but he could not, as he had always been able to fly, even since his sticky new-born wings had unfurled from the lengths of his shoulder blades.

Laurence squeezes the round of Cyrus’ hip in a way he’d hoped was comforting. “Of course you can,” He mumbled. “Drew’s teaching you again, remember?”

“Drew’s gone!” Cyrus muttered, sounding resentful and hysterical at the same time. “And they’re probably fucking up his wings, too!”

“Well, let’s get there before that happens,” Luke said softly, feeling uncomfortable at the situation. He’d never actually been in a situation like this and he wanted out in whatever way was deemed possible. “Come on, Cyrus.”

The Corrigan looked up, his eyes slightly reddened amongst the black-green. “Okay.” He said this only because he knew he had to get over it, and certainly did not want to keep the troop from getting their missing member. He would not be the kind of person who stopped something as important as retrieving a possibly injured, and terribly important fae.

“Okay,” Laurence repeated quietly, helping him up and giving him a soft nod.

-

Drew didn’t know how long he’d been here and he didn’t know how long he would actually be here for. The thing through his wing hurt, stinging slightly, and he was pretty sure that there was some blood on the blue spread of his wing, but he didn’t dare look because he could remember how stained and terrible Laurence’s wing had looked once it had been torn and ruined in battle.

Drew really hoped that his own wing didn’t look like Laurence’s had, or worse, like Cyrus’. Though, he definitely doubted it because he only felt the sharp… something, through the muscle of his wing. Every time he dare move, or twitch slightly, a sharp pain went up his shoulder and he would wince and scold himself for moving.

He was forming a plan though, because there was little else to do when laying, pinned by the wings.

He’d considered trying to give the weird white-fae what they wanted without whatever injury would happen to him, but then he remembered that they didn’t actually understand him when he spoke. Much like how he didn’t understand what they said and spoke about. He’d even considered ripping his wings and running to his safety, somehow, though he certainly hadn’t thought about what would happen if he didn’t managed to escape.

“Fuck,” he murmured, though twisted slightly on the surface. He’d been taught to endure pain by Kier’s fathering fae because if you couldn’t then you certainly could not go into battle when you would certainly go through pain in some sort of way. He clenched his fists at his sides, taking deep breaths as he tugged his wing against the metal that was through it, harsh with deep and calming breaths. “Come on.”

His legs crunched slightly at the knees and his other hand gripped at the fur that hung loose around his hips, to support himself in some sort of way. And then he tugged, pulling his shoulder and pulling the wing through the line of metal. The sound of wing ripping was horrid and it seemed to echo and ache in his ears, and the pain was something more than excruciating, but who else would save him if he could not save himself?

So he took a deep breath and twitched his shoulder, hard, ignoring the ripping sound and the sticky feeling on his wing.

-

“So this is it?” Kier asks quietly, his eyes wide and tinted red. His mouth was slightly dropped in surprise and his wings were dropped down, dangling against the floor with a slightly rigid and uncomfortable backing. “You think Drew’s in there?”

Cyrus nodded his head a little, crossing his arms across his stomach. This was definitely the place, there was no way in the world that he wouldn’t remember it. He’d only left some time ago, and it wasn’t exactly one could easily forget. The building was tall and grey, box shaped, not soft like the petals that the new troop sometimes slept in, or the odd shape of the tree. There were smaller boxed on the outside, splitting the grey up with darks and pale colours.

There were weird, warped shapes on the outside, some moved and there was sound everywhere that was almost deafening to the hyper-sensitive ears that the fae possessed.

“Well,” Laurence breathed, looking around with the same wide eyes as the rest of thr group. “How do we actually get into this place, Cyrus?” he turned and looked at him with somewhat expectant eyes, like he thought that Cyrus would actually know how to operate within this place. He did not. Cyrus honestly had no idea how this place worked, and he’d never really thought that he’d need to figure it out. But apparently he did.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, worrying on his lower lip and trying to stop his wings from twitching in nerves and the embarrassment of simply not knowing. “I, um. I know we have to find a door- like the opening to the tree- and then we will be inside—“

Luke nodded slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. “I say that we sleep now because if we don’t we’re gonna be shattered and tired for when we’re performing our rescues plan and we can’t afford any slip ups.”

Laurence and Kier nodded. “Power-nap,” they agreed softly, glancing towards each other with matching expressions on their faces, one of worry and nerves.

-

Drew nearly screamed when he finally got his wing free from the metal, simply because he’d come to the realization that he’d only actually freed one wing, and he still had the other to do. He sat up, half leaning over his still pinned wing, while desperately shaking his other one, hands pressing over the tear that went through it.

When he pulled his hands away from the tear his hands were coloured a sticky and dark red. He ignored it because if he didn’t he’d go into panic, and that was the worst thing he could do at the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY LATE UPDATES


	17. The Importance of Moss 17.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was going to get out of here with or without his troops help.

There was a trail of blood along the top of the experimentation bench. The source, the scientists assumed, was from Specimen 1567. They figured this not only because Specimen 1567 was missing but because the two pins that had held him down to the spongy mat were darker at the ends and slightly less shiny than before. There were bloody hand prints pressing against the sponge of the mat, and a larger and duller blob where Specimen 1567 had obviously wiped his hands. There was only brief smears of red after that, then, and they were mainly streaks of dark red, which the scientists presumed were from the rips Specimen 1567 must have made in his wings to escape.

Mr. Jakly, the head of the research group specifying on this particular organism, was furious that Specimen 1567 had somehow escaped. He had set half the apartment on finding the small creature as soon as remotely possible so that they could continue their experiments. And when they got Specimen 1567 back, he certainly wouldn’t hold back on slicing its wing off like he had done with the green-winged one. 

He was getting tired of researching these creatures because they always found a way to escape just when they were getting to the fun part. It was not helpful at all, and soon, he knew those damned rights activists would find their way back to the lab and free all the other specimens he and his team had collected over the past six months.

He rubbed his eyes and sighed. He needed to be paid more for this shit.

-

Drew didn’t know where he was or where he should be going other than out of this place. He couldn’t think right for two reasons, he was sleep deprived and in pain. Every drag of himself, or the occasional step and stumble combo that he made was getting harder to do. His wings were there for balance but every time he dare use them for that, they sent bolts of pain down his back and ached at his shoulders.

He hadn’t slept in what felt like many Light-and-Darks. His eyelids were heavy but he had to resist the temptation of letting them stay shut, because he knew that if he slept the Wingless-Fae would find him and do further damage to his already painful wings. He couldn’t bear the thought that maybe he’d lose more of his wing than Cyrus did- who would teach him how to fly if that happened?

So, with the thought of his troop and the reminder of his flying lessons with Cyrus, Drew took a deep breath and continued on his trek to find the tree. To find his troop again. He was scared that maybe he would not recognise them if he saw them as he hadn’t seen them for such a long time and he’d forgotten whether or not Fae’s were famous for having incredible memories or if it was terrible.

-

“Somethin’s going on,” Cyrus says, frowning at the building that stood in front of them. It was daunting, the place itself, but now it was worse because there was something happening that hadn’t been happening when they went to sleep. “They’re all moving and there’s more than there were when we got here.”

It was true. There were more of these Wingless-Fae’s walking around inside the building, there was a loud blaring coming from somewhere announcing something in a language that none of the troop understood. There were rounded things with four circles around their bottom moving around and puffing out large billows of smoke and making a dreadful racket that couldn’t be drowned out. It was more frightening now, and that truly was saying something.

Kier frowned, scratching his finger across the mesh of vines on his nose. “I guess it’s gonna be harder to get to Drew, then, right?” he asks Cyrus, though he already knew the answer. He was planning in his head about what they’d do next because he’d gone into battle mode and there was something exciting about being in a situation where he had to think on his feet and plot a safe way to do things.

Cyrus shrugged, his wings twitching with the movement of his shoulders. “I don’t know. I mean, we’re pretty small compared to them so it won’t be that hard to get past them without being noticed.”

A nod ran through the troop. Cyrus had a point. The Wingless-Fae’s were taller and just genuinely bigger than they were in most senses of the word and in a lot of ways they had the advantages of being big. However, being small was also a good thing especially when you’re going to go on a mission as important as this and not wanting to be seen.

Luke looked up with a frown, though. “Yeah, we have that advantage but what if that’s why there’s so many of them now? What if Drew got out somehow- like you did, Cyrus- and they’re going frantic looking for him and then they find us and then we’re all stuck in that place.”

“Well,” said Laurence grimly. “We’ll have to be super careful then, won’t we?”

-

There was Wingless-Fae’s everywhere. There was stamping sounds that echoed loud and everywhere and Drew couldn’t seem to get away from them. They were yet to notice him, though, because he kept himself pressed up against the wall and his hands holding his wings close and stopping any blood that wanted to rise from dripping onto the floor. He could see some light a little bit away but he’d come t be disappointed by the false lights when he found out that they weren’t real and that they were in little cases.

His wings were stiff as he slid down the long corridor, every time they moved just slightly mre blood made its way out and his walking pace slowed down somewhat considerably. There was a blck that was pushed ajar, and he slipped into the smaller room. It was dark in there but he didn’t need the light to see, felt more comfortable being in here in the dark than he did in the fake lights that were everywhere and never ending.

He sat down and dragged himself until his back hit something solid. He squinted his eyes, raising the black-film from the blue of his eyes and glanced around the room. It was a grainy black and white that surrounded him and he could only see faint outlines to objects that he wouldn’t be able to name even if it were light.

He lifted his hand up and stood, feeling around the ledge above him until something soft came into his grip, and he tugged. The force that he tugged caused the soft roll of something falls down onto him, and he fell onto his back with a slight huff and a bit back whine of pain. Drew pushed himself to a sitting position and pulled the roll of soft flat out onto his lap, just looking at it for a few seconds.

“C’mon,” he murmured to himself as he brought his lower lip into his mouth and began to wrap the soft around his left wing just like Luke had when Laurence had ripped his wing. It didn’t look like it hurt when Luke did it to Laurence as he’d been doped out on some sort of drug, but God did it hurt. Drew wished he had some of that anti-pain stuff that Laurence had, but he didn’t. He knew how to cope though. He took a deep breath and tightened the rolls that he tied off around his wing.   
Just one more wing and then he could sleep. He felt safer here, like nobody would find him and like nobody would think to check in here.

It takes him a while to finish the wrapping of his wings, half spent tying and the other wincing forwards and huffing out deep breaths. He also wrapped a tight band of the stuff around his middle and the bows of his shoulders, remembering what Luke had said about needing support on those areas if your wings were damaged in anyway. He wondered to himself if Cyrus had these wound around the slim of his body.

-

“Stay to the walls, alright?” Cyrus muttered as they pushed into the building, keeping low and keeping their wings tight and hidden.

The troop nod.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is late (were you expecting anything else) i've been doing my prep exams at school so i guess i have an excuse!


	18. The Importance of Moss 18.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd found what they'd came for, but how were they going to get out?

Specimen 1567 was yet to be found. Maybe the team weren’t looking hard enough or maybe Specimen 1567 was just difficult to find because of how small he was or maybe there was something they’d missed when looking at the species. Maybe they could make themselves invisible to predators, or just blend into their backgrounds like the chameleon did. After all, they would have found the specimen by now if it didn’t have some sort of protection against predators, surely?

Mr. Jakly, though annoyed at their second specimen of that species escaping, wasn’t too bothered about it because 1567 had been causing trouble with the research team and himself. The search for 1567 was to be closed after two days, and then the team would go and collect another specimen from the meadow that  
they’d found the other two previously.

It wasn’t a difficult process, not really. The creatures were practically defenceless and too small to do much damage. They were disposable.

-

The wingless-fae were everywhere, and they’d almost been seen on multiple occasions and perhaps they would have been caught if it wasn’t for the tall dark rooms that Cyrus had dragged them into at the mere sound of one of the wingless. He was helpful, Kier regretted to admit, because he seemed to know the corridors well enough to know his way around.

It’s the fifth time that they almost get caught that they get lucky, in some words. Luke had grabbed them this time, dragging them through the crack of an open door and into a shady room with only a little source of false light above them. Of course, to start with it was just a squat place until the coast was clear enough for them to be on the move again, but it turned out to be a lot more than that when the troop spent their time looking around the expanse of the room.

There were lines against the wall filled with stuff that they didn’t know nor understand, then there was a large block shaped item against the far wall with a thing with four legs pushed up against it almost carelessly. However, none of that was important because they were just the needless details, and not what anyone cares about.

It was Cyrus who found the drops of something dark against the white-grey of the floor. The droplets were thinning but he followed them anyway, frown on his face and hands in tight fists in his pockets. Could this be it? He was scared about what he would find, because maybe they’d been too long and perhaps Drew had died—maybe this was some other poor creature that had had the fortune to escape?

He ended up at a wall.

“Drew?” he whispered, voice croaking slightly from lack of use, glancing around the space for something, someone perhaps. “Are you here?”

There wasn’t any sound to start with, and he doesn’t like to admit the disappointment or dread that he felt at that moment, but it filled up his stomach and his eyes stung slightly. How had he come so close and actually given himself hope where there simply was none? His wings drooped instinctively, the tips dragging against the floor even more in his pure dismay.

But then there was something, a little cough, and that was all it took for his wings to perk up and him to turn around quickly. The black veil dropped over his eyes as he glanced around the slightly enhanced dark space, and that’s when he sees it. Him. And the hope swells up with the added joy and he makes his way over, carefully and quietly so not to get the troops hope up, or alarm the wingless.

The dark shape is shaking atop of one of the shelves; surrounded in reels of something and whatever else he could find that would make a sort of protective nest.

“C-cyrus?” stammered the shaking fae, hands pushing away some of the nest.

The Corrigan’s face split into a grin and he rushed over, ignoring the pain in his feet because he needed to get over to Drew right this second because his own problems were the least of his worries right now. He’d found him. After all this time, here he was.

“Are you alright?” he asked hurriedly as he gently picked away the nest so he could see the other fae better and inspect him for any signs of damage or mistreatment. He didn’t have to look for very long, and the other didn’t even need to reply for Cyrus to know what had happened to Drew. He hadn’t expected less, but he’d hoped that it wouldn’t have been that way.

Drew’s blinking a lot, hands reaching out to grab at Cyrus with need as tears started to roll hotly down his cheeks for the first time in a while. “W-who’s gonna teach you to fly now?” he whispered, only losing his words a little as his hands grabbed onto the front of Cyrus’ clothes and dragged him a little closer, just gently.

“You are,” Cyrus murmured hurriedly, touching his fingers gently to Drew’s cheeks. “you’re gonna be fine, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He goes quiet after that, and Cyrus shouts for the rest of the troop as he gently pulled him down from the shelf, careful not to touch him too much in fear of hurting him more than he had already been hurt. He could see the sloppy wrapping of his wings and the wrap that was tight around his slim torso. It was what you were taught to do if your wings were ever injured, wrap your wings, shoulders and middle for support. They needed support.

Cyrus is checking over his face and wherever else he can while the troop rush over. there’s a thin line of vine missing from down his thigh, the main one that should be there, and there’s a long cut up his stomach as well, though there’s black lines crossing over that.

-

Luke was going to have to do a lot to get him healthy again, he could tell just by looking at him, but it was something he knew he had to do, and possibly do most of it before they even left this building or even before they left the room in which they’d found him.

He has to shove the other three away from Drew in order to remove the wrappings and make them cleaner and better, he’s gentle enough and even manages to find some of the medicine he’d given Laurence when his wing had been torn. The worry on his face doesn’t really lessen all whilst he’s just checking the younger Fae over, frowning at all that had been done to him and only briefly wondering if Cyrus looked the same when he had somehow gotten out of the building.

-

“I don’t like this,” Kier murmured to Laurence as he paced in tight and worried circles, his wings stiff in worry. “How are we going to get him out of here without alarming the wingless even further? Surely they must know that he is missing from where he was and are now looking for him?”

Laurence agreed with him, though didn’t want to think too much about it. They hadn’t had long enough to be happy about finding Drew again, and it was settling in pretty quick that finding him wasn’t even the difficult bit, it was getting him out safely. That was key, he didn’t care if the rest of the troop got further injured he just knew that they needed Drew to not get hurt any further on their escape.

“We’ll go separately,” Laurence decided. “They’ll get all of us for sure if we’re in a group, and if we’re in a group we’ll be slowed down by the injured…”

Kier turned and looked at him, his wings dropping slightly as he realized that is what they had to do. “I don’t like it but if it gets us out that’s all that matters, really.”

The two went on to plan their escape further, planning what could go wrong and what would not. The strategic planning was always a part of their job as leaders and now it was dawning on the two how important it was for them to get this right, because if they didn’t their troop may face the consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good god this is late, sorry guys >


End file.
